Indianapolis Times, Volume 39, Number 293, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 April 1928 — Page 16

PAGE 16

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THIS HAS HAPPENED SALLY FORD is “farmed out’’ to CLEM CARSON, prosperous farmer, the summer she is 16, and leaves the State orphanage, the only home she has known since she was four. At the farm, she finds a friend in DAVID NASH, student and athlete. David prefers Sally to Clem's bad-tempered daughter, PEARL, and this angers the farmer. When Carson makes insulting remarks about Sally, David sends him crashing to the ground with one terrific blow. David and Sally flee. They tramp until morning when they come to a carnival train. In the carnival troupe Sally spies EDDIE COBB, former inmate of tne Orphans’ Home. He begs WINFIELD BVBEE, manager of the carnival, to make a place for these two and accordingly David is sent to the cook’s car and Sally becomes “Princess Lalla,’’ crystal gaer. Sally makes friends with the midget. “PJTTY SING,” who warns her to beware of NITA, the Hula dancer, who has her eye on David. That night in the dress tent Nita comes in. When Sally speaks to her, she ruts her short and tells her she knows who she is well enough. Bending menacingly over Sally, she demands: “Do roll w'ant mo to tip off the police? Well, then, if you don't, listen—and get it good, all of it!” NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER - XVIII FOUR girls, two of them thin to emaciation, one over-fat, the fourth as beautifully shaped as a Greek statue, trailed dispiritedly into the dress tent, their hands groping to unfasten the snaps of their soiled silk chorus-girl costumes. Their heavily rouged and powdered faces were drawn with fatigue; their eyes like burnt holes in once-gay blankets. Sally had watched them dance, enviously, between her own performances, had heard the barker ballyhooing them as: ‘‘Bybee’s Follies Girls, straight from Broadway and on their way back to join their pals in Ziegfeld’s Follies.” Now, weary unto death after eighteen performances, the ’’Follies” girls shuffled on aching feet to thencots and seated themselves with groans and dispirited curses, paying not the faintest attention to the tense tableau presented by Nita, the “Hula” dancer, and the girl they knew as ‘‘Princess Lalla.” Sally’s frightened eyes fluttered from one to .another of that bedraggled, pathetic quartet, but she might as well have appealed to the gaudily painted banners that fluttered over the deserted booths outside. “What do you want. Nita?” she whispered, moistening her dry lips and twisting her little brownpainted hands together. ‘Til tell you fast enough!” Nita snarled, thrusting her face close to Sally's. “I want you to give that sheik of yours the gate—get me? Ditch him, shake him, and I don’t mean maybe!” For the third time that day Sally was having David Nash, the only friend she had ever made outside the'orphanage, thrown into her face as a sweetheart or worse. Winfield Bybee’s casual words to his wife—- “ Can’t you see she’s clear gone on that Dave chap of hers?”—had made her heart beat fast with a queer, suffocating kind of pleasure, a pleasure she had never before experienced in her life. Those words had somehow initiated her into young ladyhood, fraught with strange, lovely privileges, among them the right to be “clear gone” on a man—a man like David! The midget’s “your David” and “Os course you’re in love with him, and he’s crazy about you—a blind person could see that,” had sent her heart soaring to heaven, like a toy balloon accidentally released from a child’s clutch. But Nita’s “that sheik of yours,” Ntta’s venomously spat command, "give him the gate, ditch him,

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shake him,” aroused in her a sudden blind fury, a fury as intense as Nita’s. “I’ll do no such thing! David’s mine, as long as he wants to be! You have no right to dictate to me!” “Is that so?” Nita straightened hands digging into her hips, a toss of her ragged, badly curled blond head emphasizing her sarcasm. “Is that so? Maybe you’ll think I had some right when the cops tap you on the shoulder tomorrow! Too bad you and your David can’t share a suite in the county jail together!” “You’d—you’d do that—to David, too?” Sally whispered over cold lips. “I thought that’d get under your skin!” Nita laughed harshly. Then, as though the interview was successfully concluded, from her standpoint, the red-painted nails of her claw-like hands began to pick at the fastening of her grass skirt. Sally was turning away blindly, feeling like a small, trapped animal, when a tiny, shrill voice came from the midget’s cot: "I heard every word you said, Nita! I think you must have gone crazy. The heat affects some like this, but I never saw it strike a carnival trouper quite so bad—” “You shut up, you little doublecrossing runt!” Nita whirled toward the midget's bed. “I may be a runt,” the midget’s voice shrilled, “but I’m in full possession of my faculties. And when I tell Winfield Bybee the threats you’ve made against this poor child, you’ll find yourself stranded in Stanton without even a grass skirt to earn a liivng with. And if the carnival grapevine is still working, you’ll find that no other show in the country will take you on. It will be back to the hash joints for you, Nita, and I for one think the carnival will be a neater, sweeter place without you. Get your makeup off and get into bed. Sally. And don't worry. Nita wouldn’t have dared try to bluff a real trouper like that.” “For Gawd’s sake, are you-all going to jaw all night?” a weary voice, with a flat, southern drawl demand - ed indignantly. “I've got some important sleeping to do, if I’m going to show tomorrow. Gawd. I’m so tired my bones are cracking wide open!” “Shut up yourself!” Nita snarled,; slouching down upon the camp stool beside her trunk, to remove her ] make-up. “You hoofers don’t know what tired means. If you had to jelly all day like I do—Oh, Gawd! . what a life! What a life! You're right, Midge! It sure gets you—eighteen shows a day and this hellfired heat.” It was Nita’s surrender, or at least her pretended surrender, to the law of the carnival—live and let live; ask no questions and answer none. In the thick silence that followed Sally tremblingly seated herself before her trunk and smeared her neck, face, arms and hands with theatrical cold cream. She was conscious that other weary girls drifted in—“the girl nobody can lift,” the albino girl, whose pink eyes were shaded with big blue goggles; the two diving girls, looking as if their diet of soda pop and bananas eaten under water did not agree with them. But she was aware of them rather than saw them. Stray bits of their conversation forced through her own conflicting thoughts and emotions—- “ Where’s my rabbit foot? Gawd, I’ve lost nty rabbit foot! That means a run of bad luck, sure—” “ —'n I says, ’Blow, you crazy rube. Whaddye take me for?’ ” “Good pickings! If this keeps up I’ll be able to grab my cakes in the privilege car—sold fifty-eight postcards today—” “Whaddye know? Gus the barker's fell something fierce for the newkid. ’Nn they say Pop Bybee’s got her on percentage, as well as twelve bucks per and cakes. Some guys has all the luck—”

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“Who's the sheik in the privilege car? Don’t look like no K. P. to me. Boy, howdy! Hear you already staked your claim, Nita! Who is he? Millionaire’s son gettin’ an eyeful of life in raw?” She knew that Nita did not answer, at least not in words. Gradually talk died down; weary bodies stretched their aching length upon hard, sagging cots. Someone turned out the sputtering gas jet that had ineffectually illuminated the dress tent. Groans subsided into snores or whistling, adenoidal breathing. A sudden breeze tugged at the loose sides of the tent, slapping the canvas loudly against the wooden stakes that held it down. Although she was so tired that her muscles quivered and jerked spasmodically, Sally found that she could not sleep. As if her mind were a motion-picture screen, the events of the day marched past, in very bad sequence, like an unassembled film. She saw her own small figure flitting across the screen, fanastically clad in purple satin trousers and green jacket, her face and arms brown as an Indian's, her eyes shielded by a little black lace veil. Crowds of farmers, their wives, their children; small-town business men, their wives and gig.gling daughters and goggle-eyed sons, avid for a glimpse of the naughtiness which the barker promised behind the tent flap of the "girlie show,” pressed in upon her, receded, pressed again, thrust out quarters, demanded magic visions of her— David, his eyes streaming with onion tears, smiling at her. David reading that dreadful newspaper story—David of yesterday, saying, "Dear little Sally!” pressing her against him for a blessed minute— And Nita, her eyes rabid with sudden, ugly passion—passion for David —Nita threatening her, threatening David— David, David! The movie stopped with a jerk, then resolved itself into an enormous “close-up” of David Nash, his eyes smiling into hers with infinite gentleness and tenderness. “Does he think I’m just a little girl, too young to —to be in love, or to be loved?” she asked herself, audacious in the dark. “If—if he was at all in love with me—but oh, he couldn’t be!—would he be so friendly and easy with me? Wouldn’t he be embarrassed, and blush, and—and things like that? Oh, I’m just being silly! He doesn’t think of me at all except as a little girl who’s in trouble. A girl alone, as he calls me.” Then anew memory banished even the “close-up” of David on the screen of her mind—a memory called up by those words —“girl alone.” She felt that she ought to weep with shame and contrition because she had so long half-forgotten Mrs. Bybee’s promise to make inquiries about her mother—the

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mother who had given her to the orphanage twenty years before, leaving behind her only a meager record—“ Mrs. Nora Ford, aged 28.” So little in fiiose words with which to conjure up a mother! She would be 40 now, if—if she were still alive! Suddenly all her twelve years of orphanhood, or longing for a mother, even for a mother who would desert her child and go away j without a word, rushed over Sally j like an avalanche of bruising stones. Every hurt she had sustained dur- | ing all those twelve motherless! years throbbed with fresh violence; j drew hard tears that dripped upon : the lumpy cotton pillow beneath her tossing head. When the paroxysm of weeping had somewhat subsided she crept j out of her cot and knelt beside it i and prayed. Then she crept back into bed, un- | conscious that the midget was still j awake and had seen her dimly in

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