Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 296, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 April 1926 — Page 8

PAGE 8

SANDY

SANDY MfNEIL, in love with life, h iri'les Ben Murillo, a rich Italian, to Uleaso her impoverished family. Tjranny by Murillo and frequent quarrels follow. A son dies at birth. HOB MeMHIIy. her uncle, aids in plans for Sandy and her mother to take a trip to Honolulu. There she meets HA MON WORTH, who saves her life in the surf. On the same steamer home he declares his love.. Murillo says he will never release her. TUDITK MOORE, a cousin, tells Sandy Jovo is everythin*-. Murillo overtakes her ja she goes for a tryst with Ramon. Uc appears, unexpectedly, at a party she as e-tvin* for her friends. After the party he strikes her. She leaves his house and accepts the kindly attentions of Ramon whose home she shares. She then accepts a position in the city and boards out spending occasional weekends with Ramon at his home. She is summoned home, and she leaves Rcmon. promising to marry him when she is free. At her home she is confronted hy Murillo, who asks her to come back. Sho refuses. Then she reeclvea a rinst from Ramon with a note saying "goodby.’ <lO ON WITH THE STORY ! ROM lIERE CHAPTER r.XIX Sandy turned the ring in her palm. She sat down, eold with dread, the suspense of the last few days now fixed In appalling certainty, Ramon was dead. He had sent this exquisite gift asking to be remembered, and he waa gone. She recalled him in grim, despondent moods; especially since that night when the girl In the purple kimono accosted them at the cottage door; recalled him in moods of despairing and terrible humility. She now thought: “He’s done it!” There was that ’other image of a bronzed and laughing figure riding the surf. Too vital—he was too gallant and vital for a cowardly end like this. She put the ring on her little finger, turning it back and forth, thinking distractedly; “Men don’t kill themselves for love. They talk about it far awhile —they get over it, lie loved before. She died. He lived through that ” The stone was so beautiful. She studied its limpid gleam. Her eyes filled. How sad that love goes on for one and ends for the other —that he would keep on looking backward, but she could put it from her Finally she thought; “It’s better ended for him. What could I bring to anyone? I’ll never be free. The longer it kept on the more unhappy it became,” She went out and took a long walk in the hills, but she couldn't shake the cold, sunken weight from her heart. ** * • Sandy wrote. She picked up the ring, pressed its cool, glassy surface against her lips. A mournful way for things to end—romance that she fancied treading so insolently, going only gay, beautiful ways. She wrote —pages and pages, recalling all the generous, happy things he had done for her, thanking him many times. All through the sentences went a note of finality; a sad note of inevitable parting. On the last page it was no longer a mood of tender regret It took form in the words..

ACHING, Jghj FEET 1W THE minute you feel pain K\l / In being drawn fl A '* fort just soakmg in. How good,your * tired, swollen, burning feet feel. 1 “Tiz” draws out the poisons that cause tender, aching feet. “Tiz” takes all the soreness out of corns and callouses. Get a box of “Tiz” at any drug or department store for a few cents. ' End foot torture forever—"wear smaller shoes, keep your feet fresh, sweet and comfortable. TlZyj WMW blood f 1 is pure ' you line to eat Remember how you osed tc come in from play hungry as a bear? Bet you could hardly wait until Dad filled your plate! And didn’t everything taste good! Seemed like you never would get enough. Didn’t you feel good those days. Yes, they were the red blooded days. Why isn't your appetite like that now? Why don’t you like to eat Just the same as you did in those days? Here’s the reason—your system is simply starving for the lack of rich, red blood! You’ve lost your appetite because you’ve lost your red blood power. No red blood nourishment for the tissues of your body. Build up your blood to where it la pure and red and rich and watch that appetite come back! S. S. S. is the way to do it! S. S. S. helps Nature build red-blood-cells builds them by the millions! You’ll get hungry and you’ll enjoy eating when S. S. S. helps Nature build pure red cells in that weak blood of yours. And you’ll look better—your skin will be clear and unblemished your flesh will become firm and solid strength md power will come — v to your flabby mus- f cles —you’ll be your-/#' Cfi ] jelf again. IjLjLj./ S. S. S. will brlns back the joy of eat- / log—the joy of living. >/ It’s done it for thousands for genei* atlons. It’s going to do It for you, too. Get S. 8. S. at your druggist. The larger bottle Is more economy leal.

by ELENORE MEHERIN, Author of “eHICKIE”

“I love the ring, Ramon, and I’ll always lov® remembering you. I have no shame nnd no regret for the things that have been between us. I know now—nnd your greatness taught It to me—all the fine, beautiful phnßos of life thut are closed to me. They’re closed ultimately, I’m not going to try to seize again. For 1 see the futility and the madness of this. I thought I could take gaily-—Joyously. I can’t, No one can unless they are very callous. ”1 said I had no regret. I should say none but one. It Is for you. You tell ine that last year when this began I was married and so I have no right now to end it. That is true. I turned to you and took advantage of you, rejoicing in all your goodness, perhaps because I needed it so much, I never thought to give you a hurt that you can’t seem to master, “Going on with it wouldn't alter this. We can't go on with it. Things that are stronger than ourselves interfere. You know this. And that's why it's so much better that we part now while there is still beauty in the feeling we have for each other than to go on becoming more and more hopeless—more and more resentful until finally we would hate the thought of each other. “I wish that you could be content with a friendship. Why need we blot each other out of existence because one relation between us has failed? You gave a great deal to me. If I gave anything 'to you why can we not think of each other kindly and happily? Why can we not be glad for what we've had and meet like Mends who no longer travel the same road, but whose paths cross now and again for a blithe hour of happy remembering? Because w were once so much to each other, is it necessary that being less than this all, we must be nothing? That is a petty way—an ungrateful attitude for the joys that have been ours. “So write to me, Ramon, and tell me you’re happy—tell me you understand. You know in your heart as well as I that this end had to be. “For you it is much better. You are worth a more substantial relation than I can offer. You are better free of me. Don’t you see this? If not now—you will. I hope so.” * * • She mailed this. She felt relieved —a warm and aching relief. The same morning that Sandy mailed this letter she received one. Slowly the blood went burning to her cheeks. She wondered if there were some way she could intercept her own message . . . keep him from reading it. Her fright returned. This was the letter Ramon wrote: “I am going away, dearest of mine, for a little while. Because 1 don't want to make things hard for you. And because I cannot remain within traveling distance and keep away from you. I’ve got to put the wide ocean between us. "I’m going, hoping for you, waiting for you, living for you. As long as I have this much I %on’t despair. When I left you the other night and you seemed so' burdened, so anxious to be free—even a little glad to have me gone—that night for a few hours I was determined to get out of your way and in such a manner that I never could bother you again. “Then I began to consider your side of it ... how worried you are —how much you have at stake ... and I remembered your lips on my eyes. I think this kept me from the madness. I believe you care for me. You must. Don’t you? Write and tell me that I count for something in your thoughts—that you love me—you want me—that some day we’ll be together and it will be for always. "I go away, believing this—counting on this—dreaming of this In every waking hour. You are all of life to me. I would suffer pain, inconceivable pain, to make you ha PPy ••• I would be glad to do this. I-ife would be utterly meaningless to me with the hope and the dream of you gone. Sandy—what a power what a terrific power you have over me! When you flash out sometimes the way you do—when you fling from me with that quick, determined step of yours, I want to drop dead. I have a morbid horror of displeasing you. It is a pity that I am so much under your heeldarling of mine—dear thing of miner' But I’m glad to be there—glad to be on my knees to you. Only let me stay so. “Write—please—tell me to hope—tell me to yearn....say that tomoriow we shall meet— You kissed me —you put your dear, soft hands on my face. I feel them—l laugh, feeling them. “Wear the ring for me—and think of me. I’m waiting here until your answer comes.” • • • A cold sweat dotted her forehead. She couldn’t reach him-Vouldn’t stop him from reading that letter And when he read it, his hope would vanish—he would be plunged into a mood of black despondence She went to the pubic telephonV and tried to get him by wire....He was not in. "He’ll do it this time—Oh, Lord!” She walked half blinded up theNiill. She wrote to him “But it will lie too late—” She tried that night and the next moring to reach him. That afternooon she was coming down the stairs. Ben Murillo was standing before the old marbletopped hat rack. He had the mail in his hands He was sorting over the letters. Sandy’s heart stood still, then it flew like a wild thing to her throat. * (To 15c Continued.) FOR BURNING ECZEMA Apply Zemo, the Antiseptic Liquid—Easy to Use When applied as directed Zemo effectively removes Eczema, quickly stops itching, and heals skin troubles, also Sores, Burns, Wounds and Chafing. It penetrates, olenuses nud soothes. Zemo is a clean, dependable and inexpensive antiseptic liquid, that is especially adapted for daytime use because it does not show. Ask your druggist for a small size o(>c or large bottle fI.OO. —Advertisement.

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OFT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

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WEEKLY BOOK REVIEW— War’s Stink-Pots Pictured In ‘No More Parades’

By Walter 1). Hickman War’s “stink-pots” are revealed in' natural dirt and color in “No More Parades.” Years after the World War we are getting the first really serious, natural and realistic study of war. I have taken my time in telling you about "No more Parades,” by Ford Madox Ford, published by Albert and Charles Boni, New York. On the stage we have the direct method, of talk and deed in “What Price Glory.” Not so direct is “The Big Parade,” a movie showing the more gentle attributes of the soldiers behind the lines while not fighting and then going into actual realism on the battle front. But in “No More Parades” we run up against the mental and sex side of this war game. Here we get satire and protests against the conduct of the war by England. Here we see the sex machine of fighting men operating in the din of battle. We come Into close contact with the brain machine of the fighters and the leaders. We face honestly the mental combat of a married officer. whose wife “dogs” him nearly to the battle front. Ford has done a marvelously big thing in “No More Parades." His method andistyle are so striking and so individual that it takes one a little time jo adjust himself to the author’s style,

THE I_N DiAiS AUOLIS TIMES

But this Is no handicap, because the style of Ford enables him to project successfully the mental reaction of his characters. I assure you that if you are weak hearted and hesitate to become acquainted with war as it exists in foct and in the brain box of fightingemen, then have nothing to do with “No More Parades.” On the other hand, if you read books a good deal like going to the theater, then you will welcome an opportunity to study this new Ford novel. Here is an extraordinary book, vital, powerful and at times overwhelming in its dramatic action. War with all of its beastly attributes come to you in this story. The author is not intentionally dirty. He knows war and he realizes the mental and passionate flights of fighting men. Here is not libel, as I see it, but an honest attempt to picture the mental side of the war game. “No More Parades” is for the adult, mature mind—the mind which is capable of looking a fact square in the face. The more that I consider this book the more convinced I am that we have one of the outstanding dramatic works of modern fiction. Those who desire honest and sincere writing,, to them I recommend “No Mono Parades.” New books of fiction at the Central Liirary Include: "The Lava-

SALESMAN SAM—By SWAN

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES—By MARTIN

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

rons,” by Mrs. L. C. Burnham; “St. Helios,” by Mrs. A. R. Burr; “Steel Decks,” by J. B. Connolly; “King of No Man’s Land,” by A. O. Friel; “Gertrude Haviland’s Divorce," by I. H. Gillmore; “Appassionate,” by Fannie Hurst; “Stormy Petrel,” by Oswald Kendall; “Plumed Serpent,” by D. H. Lawrence; "East of Eden,” by Lynn Montrose ; “Treasure Trail,” by Roland Pertwee; “Three Farms.” by Cynthia Blockley, and “Dark Tower,” by F, B. Young. New books of philosophy, sociology. n ligion and economics are: “Cosmic Evolution,” by J. E. Boodin: “Life and Teaching of Jesus According co the First Three Gospels.” by E. I. Bosworth: “Our Enemy, the Child,” by Agnes De Lima; “Kunala,” by Arpad Ferenczy; "The Faith of a Worker.” by L. P. Jacks; “Life: A Study of Self,” by W. B. Maxwell: “Oil Industry and the Competitive System,” by G. W. Stocking. New Scientific and technical books are: “A Health Survey of NinetyEight Cities;” “Chemistry in Modern Life,” by S. A. Arrhenius; "Approaching Motherhood,” by G. L. Brodhead; “Invention of Printing in China and Its Spread Westward,” by T. F. Carter; “Colds. Cause, Treatment and Prevention,” by R. L. Cecil; “Muskrat Farming,” by Earl Hummel: “Regeneration From a Physico-Chemical Viewpoint,” by Jacques Loeb; “Constipation, Its Cause, Effect and Treatment,” by

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B. A. Macfadden; “The Industrial Museum," by C. R. Richards; “TeaRoom Recipes,” by Lenore Richards; “Mastery of the Bow and Bowing Subtleties,” by Paul Stoeving, and “Climates of the United States, Vby R. D. Ward. LUNCHEON CLUBS TOLD Every luncheon club of the city had its attention called to the Home Complete Show this week by members of the speakers committee of the Indianapolis Real Estate Board, headed by George T. Whelden.

Dick’s Favorite Richard Halliburton, who wrote that gay and romantic vagabond tale of travel, the Royal Road to Romance,” (Bobbs-Merrill) has confessed an interviewer that his favorite book and character is "Don Quizote.” His mother read the book to him when he was 6; at 16 he read it again and at 26 he relived the old thrill a third time. It isn't surprising then that the boy who had idealized the old wind-mill fighter, could and would, as a man, swim the Heblespont, get jailed for photographing Gibraltar, and be the first pei son to climb Fujiyama in winter. All of which Halliburton has done. As for windmills —pouf!

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—Bv AHERN

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APRIL 13,