Indianapolis Times, Volume 38, Number 44, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 July 1926 — Page 20

PAGE 20

- 0 W° w Business Hisses By BEATRICE BURTON Author of '‘Gloria, The Flapper Wife”

The names in this story are purely fictitious and are not to be taken as releiring to any particular person, place o r firm.

READ THIS FIRST _ FLOSSIEand MARY ROSE MIDDLEton are tivo pretty sisters the daughters oi mother. Both oi them ,■ wotk for the Dexter Automobile Com- * >tary Rose is secretary to the sales manager, JOHN MANNERS, and is in love with him, although the office gossips say he is engaged to a girl or wealth, DORIS HI NIG. Because of her feeling for him, Mary Rose refuses a repeated offer of marriage from UK, TOM FITZROY, who has long been in love with her. . _./. , Flossie, who is ? bora flirt, keeps the office files under MISS MACFARLANE. She is engaged to SAM JESSUP, a mild •' young man who isseeretary tothehead .01 the company. HILAR.V DEXTER. Mary Rose discovers that she is carrying on a flirtation wiht Dexter, who s married and the head of a family. - When she makes Flossie return some \valuable gifts that Dexter made her, the girl threatens to leave home and me with her chum, ALICE JAMES. But she doesn't, and for a time Mary Rose thinks the Dexter affair has blown over. But one day. when Miss MacFarlane complains to Dexter of Flossies laziness he takes the girl s Part. And Miss MacFarlane angrily leaves the job she's held for fifteen years. Dexter makes Flossie head of the department, and puts the love-sick Sam in to help her for a few days. Then one day, Mary Rose finds ner sister in Dexterss arras. . When she scolds Flossie about it Flossie betrays no shame, and simply says its not her xauit that men like her! . She accuses Mary Rose of trying to “vamp” John Manners, and Mary Rose barely speaks to Manners for days. Then one afternoon he asks her to come to read to hia invalid mother, in the absence of Doris Hinig, who often does—and Mary Rose goes. Before John takes her upstairs to meet his mother, he tells MRS. BUNDLE, the housekeeper, that Sho Ns; V ON r \VITH r THE STORY /f ' CHAPTER XXV Mary Rose was not prepared for John Manners’ mother. When he had said she was an Invalid, Mary Rose at once pictured a sweet-faced sufferer, propped up against th© lace pillow of her bed. But the fine-looking, dark-eyed woman who greeted her chegrfully as she came into the room was sitting bolt upright in an armchair of flowered chintz as if it were a throne. In one of her hands she held a cane, and that was the only sign of helpfulness about her. :"My dear,” she said, taking Mary Rose's hand in the' friendliest way, "it is very kind of you to come to see an old lady.” And she crinkled up her eyes and laughed and Mary Rose laughed with her. For in spite of her helplessness, John’s mother was not an old lady at all. Neither paralysis nor suffepi-g had robbed her of her young smile and her air of being vigorously alive. Mary Rose had loved her before she saw her, simply because she was John Manners' mother, and now she lqved her because she was herself—a Roman eagle sort of self. Proud and unbeaten. **l loved to coone, Mrs. Manners,” she said truthfully. She wondered 11’ either of them, the mother or the ion, knew what mixed pleasure and pain she felt, as she stood there before them with their kind eyes on her. “Johnny said you have a lovely voice and you have.” the older woman surprised her by saying suddenly. and Mary Rose blushed. Johnny So that was what his mother called him. Such a nice name, too, and how Well it fitted him. Straightforward and honest and friendly, like himself. And then she wondered if Doris Hinig ’ called him “Johnny,” too. Probably. “Cut I suppose I’ll have to go on calling him “Mr. Manners” all the rest of my life,” she thought, miserably—and this moment that she had been enjoying to the full, became dreadful to her. She felt, all at once, like an out-sider--She was nothing in the lives of these two people who mattered so much to her — “I’ll leave you two together, now,” John Manners was saying, “and when Mrs. Bundle has dinner ready, I’m out in the garage—car needs greasing—” Mary Rose felt, rather than saw, when he left the room. She pulled herself together, heard the ~ click of the door closing behind him. She was sorry now that she had come hqre to this house of his “Mr. Manners said that you’re reading ‘Anna Karenina,’ she said, looking around the room with its old chintzes, its soft lights and its mirrors with their old gilt frames. On a little table she found the book. 'Beside it stood a large framed picture of—Doris Hinig. Mary Rose tried not to see the picture. She opened the book and began to read in her low, husky voice that John Manners had said was a lovely voice. She read for a long time. Downstairs in the hall a silver chiming clock struck seven very softjy. And a few minutes afterward the large figure of Mrs. Bundle appeared in the doorway of the room. She carried a tray. “Dinner’s ready downstairs, ’ she said, beaming at Mary Rose, as she set it down- on a table at Mrs. Man-

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ners’ elbow, “and Mr- Johnny’s waiting for you. I think.” He was. He stood at the bottom cf the long, carpeted flight, watohl.ig her as she came slowly down. And under the look that she saw in hdh eyes, a soft flame of joy flashed into her face. It was a look that wel corned her, enfolded her —or "did she just imagine it? She couldn’t be sure. As she sat down at the table, opposite him, a moment later, she wondered if the whole thing were a sort of day dream, or if it reallyi .were happening. Could she really f>e sitting here, in the pool of light made by the tall candles, with the man she loved, in his own l>use? It seemed simply too wonderful to be true—the happy kirtfl of thing that comes true in dreams, and nowhere else. She looked down at her soup. It was steaming, and it looked quite real. She tasted it. It was vegetable soup and not only real but very very good. “You shouldn’t have told yqur mother I have a lovely voice,” she said presently, but only for the sake of saying something—of saying anything. He looked at her intently “But you have. It’s the nicest voice in the world—the nicest one I happen ever to have heard, at any'rate,” he said. His tone was mattepof-fact. Mrs. Bundle came in with roast and the salad. She went to the sideboard drawers for the carving knife and fork, and when she laid them down before John Manners, she laid a yellow envelope on the cloth, too. “There’s a telegram, came for you a while ago,” she said. “I clear forgot it ’till this minute, Mr. Johnny. But ’tis from Miss Hinig, I’ve no doubt at all.” From something in her tone, Maxy Rose knew that Mrs. Bundle did not like Doris Hinig. And her heart went out to Mrs. Bundle. Manners put the envelope in his pocket, and began to carve the roast. "Outside piece?” he asked, cutting off a slice large enough to satisfy the appetite of a dock walloper. "Look here,” she laughed, “You’re giving me enough food for a soldier on the march! Just rfemember that 'l’ve been sitting at a desjf all day, doing nothing.” He passed her the plate. "Yes, and that reminds me,” he began, “that the summer’s almost over, and we’ve never had a long drive out in the country anywhere. For weeks I've been premising myself that—if you’ll go. Will you—sometimes, soon?” He looked up at her and she nodded, dumbly. At that moment she would have said, “Yes,” had asked her to ride with him to the moon.

She had forgotten Doris Hinig. She had forgotten everything that lay outside the pool of light from the tall flickering candles. It was a little ,world that closed them in—just the two of them—herself and John Manners. Then out in the hall the silver chiming clock struck the half-hour, and a second afterward the telephone gave its nervous electric tinkle. The large figure of Mrs. Bundle filled the doorway'once more. “Long distance call for you, Mr. Johnny,” she said grimly, and Mary Rose knew that Mrs. Bundle knew that the call was from Doris Hinfg. She could tell it by the set of Mrs. Bundle’s jaw under her firm pink flesh and by thp tone of her voice. When John hhd left the room she sniffed loudly. “These girls who give a man no peace In his life—writing to ’em, telegraphing ’em, telephoning ’em when they’re at their meals!—’’/she said, and shook her head to show her scorn of such girls. “Girls didn't act like that in my day!” She spoke to Mary Rose as if r <they had been friends for a long time, and understood each other perfectly. -* * * After dinner Mary Rose and John Manners walked home together, through the summer ' night. The trees still gleamed wet in the lamplight, but the sky was spangled with stars. “Like a wet wheat field, with fireflies” as Mary Rose said. She was wonderfully happy as they walked along the seining pavements. “I’ve had such a good time tonight,” she went on, and her voice was as light as if it had wings. “I like house —it’s so peacefql and so quiet. And I adore your mother, Mr. Manners. I wonder if you know how much I enjoyed reading to hfr —” In the darkness she could just

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make out his face, turned to her. “I wanted you to read to her,” he said slowly and deliberately. “But more than that, I wanted you to know my mother, and I wanted her .to know you.” He stopped suddenly as if he had had more to say, but had decided not to say it. But what he said was enough for Mary Rose. She felt as if she were walking on air, her head among thf*stars. She could remember no time in all her life when she had been so happy as she was right now at this moment. But the moment-passed. As they came up New York Street, Mary Rose saw that Sam Jessup’s old automobile, the “Wheezer,” was parked at the curb in front of the Middleton house. And in the yellow* light that streamed out over the porch from the front hall sat Sam and Flossie, side by side. They were>both in whjte —Sam in “collegian” white pants and Flossie in the airiest of org^dies. She fluttered up from the steps like a big white butterfly as MaryRose and Manners came into sight. “I’ll say ‘goodnight’ here, if you don’t mind,” John said in a hurried undertone, as they passed at the gate in the hedge that bordered the walk. But before he could go, Flossie was upon him. "Oh, Mr. Manners, I hope you aren't going,” she lilted. “Come on up land sit down. Sam and I’ve made a great big pitcher of lemonade —come along, and I’ll let you sit beside me and hold my hand

THE INDIANAPOLJ.IS TIMES

and tell me the sad story of your life:” A of shame ran over Mary Rose like Are. “Oh, I wish she wouldn't—” she thought, but there was no stopping Flossie. “Sometimes I think you don’t like me, Mr. Manners,” she tvas saying now, petulantly. / Mary Rose, through her humilia tion, heard John remark gruffly that "sure, he liked her.” “Well, then, do you run away every time I come around?” Flossie asked demurely in her sweetest'tores She looked very lively as she stood there in the dimness, with her fluffy, skirts all around here and her hand clasped behind her head. "Good night,” Mary Rose said suddenly. She could not bear to look at John Manners, or to shake his She went up to the front walk and did not-even see poor Sam, who sat on the front steps, holding a large glass of lemonade out before him as a cigar store Indian held aJo bacco leaf, years ago. As she took off her hat before the hall mirror, Flossie came into the house. “Well, your little boy friend wouldn’t stay,” she' said cheerfully. "He had to run home to his mama, the sweet thing!” Mary Rose turned on her savagely. “Flossie, you’re terrible!” she cried. "To run out after a man like that—one of my friends, too! And tell him he can hold your hand—l’m so ashamed-I can’t think!” Flossie laughed impudently. "IJke ice you’re ashamed!” she skid.

SALESMAN SAM—By SWAN’

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES—By MARTIN

Freckles and his friends—By blosser

“You’fe just jealous, "because you think you can’t hold your beaus when I come around. Well, listen, sweetie, if you can’t swim, take a seat higher up, you know; that’s the rule!” And with a swish of her skirts she was gone. V• * • ' John Manner’s mother was not asleefl when he got home that night. She called to him from her bedroom as he passed through the hall on his way to his own. “I like that girl,”-ahe said to him. “I like her very mufeh, and I hope you’ll bring her again. There’s no •nonsense about her.” > “Her voice is nice, just as I told you,'isn’t it?”.he asked noncommittally. *Yes, and she has a face like a mirroib It tells everything,” she went on shrewdly. “She’s in love •witfl you. Why didn’t you tell me so?” f (To Be Continued) Gossip raises its ugly head In tomorrow’s installment. MARINE IS 87 PHILADELPHIA—One of the distinguished visitors to the sesquicentennial exposition here is Sergt. Henry B. Hallowell, the oldest living Marine. He is a guard here. Hallowell was stationed at the White House as an orderly during the presi-1 dency of Thomas Buchanan. He has been retired for years, but spends much of his time at Marine barracks. He served in the Civil War. ■

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