Indianapolis Times, Volume 39, Number 303, Indianapolis, Marion County, 16 April 1928 — Page 14
PAGE 14
WORK TO BLOCK HOOVER BY USE OF PROPAGANDA
Coalition of Candidates Seen in Anonymous Tales in Magazines.
WASHINGTON, April 16.—Definite evidence of the formation of a coalition of candidates, money and propaganda machinery to block Herbert Hoover’s nomination is presented in the appearance of several mushroom political magazines, in the opinion of ob serveres here. While the Hoover forces are depending on the qualifications of their candidate and the work of friends to advance his fortunes, his enemies have thrown into the breach powerful and seemingly costly publicity agencies to discredit him with the Republican party. Besides the magazines filled with insinuations and inn uendo, numerous pamphlets retailing the whispered charges against Hoover are being distributed in larger quantities. Though they are reaching all parts of the country, their largest circulation apparently is in Ohio and Indiana. The first indication of this kind of an anti-Hoover campaign was the appearance of periodical named “Politics,” published here. It came came into being several weeks ago under the auspices of three exnewspaper men, including H. N. Price, who was formerly employed by Edward B. McLean, publisher of the Washington Post and the Cincinnati Enquirer. Pric'' said today none of the candidates was financing his publication, though he said, that antiHoover farm organizations had purchased copies for distribution. Copies are said to have been mailed out from the Watson headquarters in Indianapolis and the Lowden headquarters in Chicago. A similar magazine is “The Week,” published at Columbus, Ohio. Though in existence for eighteen years, this publication assumed new life when Hoover’s foes decided that the best way to fight him was by propaganda directed against his part in the war and in two Republican cabinets. Hoover’s enemies in Ohio have seized on this magazine as a means of distributing their own material and stirring up public feeling against him.
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THIS HAS HAPPENED SALLY FORD, ward of the State orphanage from the time she is four. Is •‘farmed out” to CLEM CARSON when she is 16 and meets DAVID NASH, ath- , iete and student who is working on the farm for the summer. Carson makes insulting remarks about David’s friendship for Sally and the students strikes him a terrific blow. Sally and David run away and join a carnival. David as cook’s helper and Sliy in a sideshow disguised as "Princess Latla,” crystal gazer. NITA, Hula dancer, who knows the police are after David and Sally and who is infatuated with David, threatens ea expose Sally If she doesn’t keep "hands oil” the young student. The carnival goes next to Capital City, where Sally spent so many years in the orphanage. She soon forgets her fears of detection and relies on her successful disguise of the crystal gazer. She is confused one afternoon by a handsome, well-dressed Easterner who teasingly reads her fortune in the crystal. She forgets him, however, when she sees her little friends, the wards of the orphanage. troop in with a beautiful, sadeyed woman. Sally is completely terrified when one of the orphans recognizes her and shouts her name. Gus, the barker, however, comes to her rescue and diverts attention to the freaks. Soon the children troop out and Sally gives her attention to the beautiful woman who is addressing the black-eyed Easterner. They apparently know each other, for they greet each other as "Enid” and "Van.” Without worning a cyclone descends upon the circus. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER XXVin THE storm broke with such sudden and devastating fury that the performers in the Palace of Wonders tent had little time to obey the “white hope’s” frantic bellow of warning. The terrified audience milled like stampeded cattle, choking up both exits of the tent, that leading out into the midway, and the flap at the back of the tent through which performers passed in and out between the shows. At each exit the fearcrazed carnival visitors were assaulted by a dazing impact of wind and hail and rain, driven back into the temporary shelter of the tent. Sally was fighting her way toward the “alley” exit, her frail, small body hurling itself futilely against men who had lost all thought of chivalry, knew only that death threatened. The region was notorious for its cyclones, and the horror of such a calamity was stamped on every pallid face. Children screamed; women shrilled for help, called frantically for their offspring separated from them in that mad rush for the exits. Sally had almost won to the alley exit when she remembered “Pitty Sing,” the midget, tiny, helpless Miss Tanner, who was paying her to carry her to and from the tent, who must even now be cowering in her baby chair, unable even to reach the ground without assistance. It was not quite so hard to push her way back into the center of the tent; crazed men and women offered little resistance to anyone who was so foolish as to tempt death under a collapsed tent. She had almost reached the midget’s platform when she suddenly felt herself lifted into a pair of strong arms, swung high above the hands of the last of the crowd that was battling its way to the exits. Her cry was instinctive, unreasoning, direct from her heart: “David! Oh, David!” A mocking laugh answered her and she squirmed in the man’s arms so that she could see his face. It was no,t David at all, but the man whom "Enid” had called “Van.” His face was laughing, gay, mocking, untouched by the shameful pallor of fear; exultant, rather, in the excitement of the storm. His dark eyes were wide, shining even through the fitful darkness made by the flickering of the crazily swinging gas jets. “Isn’t it glorious?” he challenged her, above the uproar of wind, rain, hail and the frightened animal sounds of human beings in fear of death. “I’ve got to find the midget—‘Pity Sing!’” she shouted, struggling frantically to release herself. “The charming barker has rescued her,” Van shouted. “I was afraid some officious ass had cheated me of the pleasure of rescuing you. I’ve waited all day—” But his sentence was broken In two by the long-threatened collapse of the tent. A center-pole struck
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him a glancing blow, knocking him flat, and Sally with him. For what seemed like hours of nightmare she struggled to release herself from the steel-like clasp of his arms and the smothering embrace of the rain-sodden canvas. To add to the horror, rain fell heavily upon the canvas that held them pinned helplessly to the earth; hail pelted her flesh bltlngly even through the dubious protection of the canvas; and every moment they were in mortal danger of being trampled to death by the feet of fleeing carnival visitors, who had been clear of the tent when it had collapsed. “Don’t struggle,” came that mocking voice, panting a little with the effort of speaking under the smothering caul of canvas. “Lie—still. I’ll hold up—the canvas—so you breathe. Shield your face—with your—arms. Sorry—l muffed—the role —of rescuer—of damsels —in distress.” “Oh, hush!” Sally cried angrily, but doing her best to obey him. She crooked an arm over her face, so that the hail no longer punished it. And she relaxed as much as possible, her head on Van’s shoulder, her feet pushing futiley at the the sodden mass of canvas that weighted them down. Van’s left hand was outspread, just above her face, holding the dripping cloth high enough above her nose to permit her to breathe in some degree of comfort. “Better?” he asked casually, no fear at all In his voice, and only a mocking sort of anxiety. “We’ll be safe enough here until the tent is raised, unless someone steps on us. And by this time your charming employer, the redoubtable Pop Bybee, has of course assembled his roustabouts to raise the tent in the expectation of finding buried treasure—ostrich men, midgets, and Turkish harem girls who read crystals.” “Aren’t you ever serious? Aren’t you frightened?" Sally gasped. “Serious? Well, hardly ever!” the man chuckled. “Frightened? Frequently! But I am so appreciative of this opportunity to be alone with you that I could hardly quibble with fate to the extent of being frightened at the means which accomplished it.” “Oh, I wonder what’s happened to—to everybody!” Sally began to shiver with sobs. “To David?” Van’s mocking voice came strangely out of the darkness. “Lucky David, wherever he is now, that your first thought should go to him. David and Sally! How do like ‘play-acting,’ Sally Ford?” The terror which the menace of violent death had held for her now seemed a pallid, weak thing, beside the heart-stopping emotion which the New Yorker’s mocking, amused voice uttering her real name called into being. Her head jerked instinctively from the comfort of his arm. Squirming away from him, under the sodden blanket of canvas, she curled into a tight little ball of agony, her face cupped in her hands. “So that’s why you bothered me so!’’ she cried, her voice muffled by her fingers. “You’re a detective! You knew all the time! You were going to take me to jail! Oh, you—Oh! David, David! “Listen, you little idiot” Van’s voice came sharply, bereft of its mocking note for once. “I’m not a detective! Good heavens! Do I look like one? I’ve always understood that they have enormous feet and wear derbies and talk out of the corner of their mouths.” Mockery was creeping back. “Did you think that a poor little tyke like you was worth sending to New York for a detective to bay at your heels like a bloodhound? I merely overhead the little Betsey’s keen penetration of your disguise. And I took the trouble to inquire casually of the Have Your Glasses Charged!
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Governor this evening just who—if anybody—Sally Ford might be —” “Then you gave me away—David and me!” she accused him, shuddering with sobs. * “Not at all. How it does pain me for you to persist in misunderstanding me! I gave nothing away—absolutely nothing! I merely found out that David Nash and Sally Ford are fugitives from justice, wanted on rather serious charges. After making the acquaintance of ‘Princess Lalla,' I might add that I don’t believe a word of the silly story. Besides, I have your own word for it—” and he laughed—“that you are ‘not that kind of a girl.’ Asa matter of fact—oh! We’ere about to be rescued, Sally Ford! I hear the ‘heaveho’ of stalwart black boys. And the storm is over, except for a gentle, lady-like rain.” It was not till he mentioned the blessed fact that Sally realized that the storm was indeed over. The only sound, besides the shouts of the “white hopes” engaging in raising the collapsed tent, was the patter of rain upon the canvas which still weighted down her small, cold body, as wet as if she had been swimming. Struggling to a sitting position under the already moving mass of canvas, the New Yorker cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted: “Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!” In an aside to Sally he chuckled: ■‘What does one shout under the circumstances —or rather, under the canvas of a collapsed carnival tent?” Sally managed a weak little laugh, “One shouts, ‘Hey, rube!’” she told him. And his stentorian “Hey, rube!” struggled up through layers of dripping canvasc, bringing speedy relief for the submerged “rube” and performer. When at last the tent was raised, Sally walked out, Van’s arm still about her shivering, soaked body, to find apparently the entire carnival force huddled in the rain to welcome her, drawn by that fateful cry of “Hey, rube!” Jan, the giant, was there, sadeyed, but smiling, “Pitty Sing” perched on one of his shoulders, Noko, the male midget, on the other. “The girl nobody can lift” was there, too, her right arm in splints; a deep gash down her pale cheek; Eddie Cobb, who, they told her as they chorused their welcome, had been crying like a baby as he searched for her throught the wreck of the carnival, was clasping a drenched Kewpie doll to his breast, apparently the sole survivor of his gambling wheel stock. Pop and Mrs. Bybee were there. Mrs. Bybee clad only In a black sateen petticoat and a read sweater.
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And in spite of his heavy loss from the fury of the storm Pop was smiling, his bright blue eyes twinkling a welcome. But—but—Sally’s eyes roved from face to face, confidently at first, grateful for their friendliness, then widening with alarm. For David was not there. “Where’s David?” she cried, then, he/ voice growing shrill and franitc, she screamed at them: “Where’s David? Tell me! He’s hurt—dead? Tell me!” She broke away from Van, ran to Pop Bybee and tugged with her little blue-white hands washed free of their brown make-up, at his wet coat. “Reckon he’s safe and sound In the privilege car,” Bybee reassured her, but his blue eyes avoided hers, pitingly, she thought. “Was anyone killed In the storm? Tell me!” she insisted, her bluish lips twisting into a piteous loop of pain. “We can’t find Nita nowhere,” Babe, the fat girl, blurted out, her eyes wide with childish love of excitement. “We thought she was buried under a tent, but they've got all the tents up now and she ain’t nowhere.” Nita—arid David. Nita—David — missing. For she did not believe for an instant that Pop Bybee was telling her the truth. “It seems to me,” Van interrupted nonchalantly, “that dry clothes are indicated for Princess Lalla. May I escort you to your tent?” and he bowed with mocking ceremony before her. “He saved my life,” Sally acknowledged suddenly, half-angrily, for she resented with childish unreasonableness the fact that It had been this mocking, insolent stranger, this “rube” from New York, not David, who had saved her. An hour later when she was uneasily asleep in her berth in the show train, whose sleeping cars had been pressed into service in lieu of the soaked cots in the dress tent, a sudden uproar—hoarse voices shouting and cursing—shocked her into consciousness. Broken sentences flung out by angry men, Pop Bybee s voice easily distinguished among them, told her what had happened:
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“Every damn cent gone!—Pay roll gone!—Safe cracked!—Told you you was a fool to take in them two hcjDos that was already wanted by the police. That Dave guy’s beat it —made a clean-up—” (To Be Continued) David can not be found, and Sally is suspected of having helped him steal the carnival funds. District Hi-Y Elects By Times Special NEWCASTLE, Ind., April 16. Hi-Y Club delegates from Delaware, Wayne, Hancock and Henry counties at a district meeting Sunday elected Donald Ward, Newcastle, president; William Baboyteaux, vice president, and John Pence, Muncie, treasurer, after forming a district organization. $1,000,000 Bridge Opened By Times Special TERRE HAUTE, Ind., April 16. The Pennsylvania Railroad today informally opened its $1,000,000 bridge across the Wabash river here. The first train to pass over the bridge was The Spirit of St. Louis, named for Col. Charles A. Lindbergh’s New York-to-Paris plane. Engineers declare the span to be an example of the latest and best theories of bridge building.
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