Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 80, Indianapolis, Marion County, 23 August 1928 — Page 8

PAGE 8

(Continued from Page One) Sybil the target of all admiring eyes. In a doorway Lawrence, standing aside for the women to precede him through, put his hand on Sybil’s arm. There was something in the way he did it. A possessive sort of pressure, gentle and compelling. She was only 18, and it electrified her. a a a BEFORE they left she had promised to write It was a girl’s patriotic duty in those days. She promised also to send some fudge and a cake, and asked if he needed sweaters or socks. That was patriotic, too. On Sunday the Thornes motored again to Devens, accompanied by Mr. Thorne, who handed around cigarets grandly. He took a liking to Lawrence and invited him down for dinner. The following week the young man obtained a 24-hour leave and spent most of it at Thorne’s place at Wianno. In the evening Sybil showed him the moon over the water and walked with him along the beach. Little waves splashed mournfully on the sands, and the moon scuttled behind a cloud. The night was feareomely beautiful.

And Sybil was fearfully lovely. She stood with her face to the sea, while the wind whipped her dress of misty stuff about her and blew her hair to John’s face. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her. After that Sybil braved parental displeasure and motored to Devens every day. Her father, by permitting her to take the car, gave the affair half-hearted acquiescence. Her mother, though she admitted John “seemed like a nice young man," frowned on the romance. Then between Sybil and her mother there grew a rift that was common between mothers and daughters those days. “She’s just furious,” Sybil told her father, “because I dare to think about John instead of tihnking of Tad every blessed minute. Her boy’s in danger—and she doesn’t care anything about mine. I'm expected to worry about Tad all the time. But I mustn’t even think about John.” Sybil strangled a sob. “If John has to go, I’ll die,” she said. “And mother wouldn’t care a bit—l know she wouldn’t. Oh, daddy, I’m so wretched!” Ineffectually her father patted her shoulder. “There, there, Sybil. Do you love him, little girl? It’s been such a short time. Mother doesn’t realize I know. Naturally she’s frantic about Tad. Your mother is not as young as she used to be, and she’s apt to be high strung these days. Take things easy, Sib. God knows it’s hard enough to have Tad over there.” ana THE roads about Devens and into Ayer were dusty and not conducive to romance, but beyond the camp an orchard stretched where leafy apple trees made welcome shadows. A little away from the rest stood a gnarled old tree with twisted limbs and a crotch where two could sit and love. Beneath its shade the two lovers clung. “Darling, darling ...” When he kissed her, he felt her tears in his lips—salty, tangy—bittersweet. “Darling! Darling!” He said it over and over. “How old are you, Sybil?” “Eighteen,” she told him. "So young,” he whispered. “So little, and so young.” “Old enough.” Her lips against his ear were saying it. “No, no, I can’t.” He held her from him. “I might come back all shot up. I mightn’t come back at all.” “Then,” she told him bravely, “I’d never forgive myself if I’d let you go like this.” “Angel!” He was kissing her hair. Then she took the pins out of her psyche, and shook it down, to please him. So that he took it in his hands, and let it slip through his fingers, caressingly.' And the next year, when Sybil had it bobbed, . she saved all that was cut away, in memory of John’s kisses on it. “Sybil—Sybil!” “Oh, John. I love you so.” Before she went they had planned to be married that week. Sybil drove home with her head in a whirl and her heart full of warm gladness. John would get a furlough. Perhaps the family would let them have the place at Wianno for a few days. That would be lots more fun than a hotel, or traveling. And she would get breakfast mornings—popovers and muffins, ana puffy omelets, golden brown. There would be wonderful days on the beach. And nights, gloriously long. They would swim in the moonlight, and lie on the sands afterward. Sybil had a private conviction that a week of love in June was worth a whole month of it in the winter- time. She hugged herself inwardly with little anticipatory shivers. But presently her ecstacy was shadowed by grim forebodings, and the fears of a woman for her beloved who is in danger. “But I will be brave,” she vowed. "And I will make him very happy. Then, if he should have to go, I will send him with a smile.” Poor Sybil, playing with dreams. That night John Lawrence’s regiment entrained for Hoboken, and sailed the next midnight. tt tt tt HE left a note for her with a boy at camp. A heart-broken little note, scribbled with a stubby pencil on a sheet of Y. M. C. A. paper: “. . . Good-by, little girl, good-by. Oh, I love you so, my precious wife-to-be. . . I love you. I love you . .” She carried it for months down the front of her dress next her heart. Girls that summer were wearing V-neck blouses cut so low that she could look down and see the folded edge peeking up from the ribbons of her little satin camisole. Whenever she was alone she read it again and again. By Christmas, with kisses and with tears, it was worn so thin it was falling apart. Then Sybil put it in the box where she kept her trinkets, under the puffy blue satin pad that lined the cover. And when she slipped it there, a crushing sense of finality came over

her. As if that was the end. As if John Lawrence had perished with his last crumbling protestations, and she would never see him again. And that night a cable came: “Missing in action.” They tried to buoy her up. To sustain their own faltering hopes. “That doesn’t mean he’s dead, Sybil. Probably he’s in a hospital somewhere. Oh, my dear, you mustn’t take on like thin! Don’t give up hope. Everything may be all right.” But Sybil knew better. “He’s dead!” she shrieked through her tears. “Dead, I tell you! I know. He came to me in a dream, all blood. So I know, you see, that he is dead.” n n a AFTER the war life had been very gay for Sybil’s crowd. John Lawrence was ten months missing then. “Presumably dead,” the record said. Tad came home, romantically bronzed, and “different” looking. Something about his eyes and the gray streak that ran through his hair. He was very sweet to Sybil, and talked to her of “‘deathless glory” and “heritages.” He gave her a bit of verse of Alfred Noyes’ that he had clipped from an English paper in Paris, and Sybil carried it in her purse until it crumbled to pieces. But all the time she knew it was a grand pretense. The world was full of noble words and fine phrases. People thought they meant them, but they didn’t really. They could tell her John died for humanity till they were black in their faces. She knew he didn’t want to die for humanity, or glory —or anything else. He wanted to live—for her. It wasn’t fair. All the talk about “sacred trusts” and “making the world safe for democracy”! People couldn’t really mean it, or they wouldn’t forget so soon. Nothing seemed to make much difference, except having a good time. Everybody wanted a good time. Even Tad. He looked so handsome in uniform, with his swagger English cap and his silver shoulder bars. Tad had come home a captain with a Croix de Guerre and two wound stripes. His mother was tremendously proud of him and wanted him to go everywhere with her. She hated to have him get back to civies, but the second day home he went to his tailor for some new clothes. "If you knew how I hate the sight of the damn things,” he said of his beautiful whipcord breeches and his gorgeous blouse. Sybil wanted to wear mourning for John, but the family had dissuaded her. “Since your engagement was neLer announced, dear,” coaxed her mother, “I really think it would be rather poor taste. Nobody really knows, you see, that you were actually planning to be married.” “But I want them to!” cried Sybil. “I’m so proud of having been his sweetheart. I want everybody to know. And ‘taste’! What do I care about ‘taste’!” She took John’s picture and crossed two little flags above it, and kept it on her dressing table with flowers in front of it. She read his letters constantly, and abandoned herself to a frenzy of extravagant grief. “Can’t you try to snap out of it, Sis?” begged Tad. “It isn’t doing John any good, you know. He

THE NEW Saint-Sinner ByJlimeJlustui CB2B#NEAsnmajNC-

Faith Hathaway was paying a mid-week, spend-the-day visit to her adored sister, Cherry, at the jonson home, a half hour’s drive from Stanton. The two sisters were stretched at ease in comfortable big garden chairs, set in the shade of lusty, gnarled old apple trees behind the white Colonial farmhouse that had been renovated and made very smart for Cherry’s coming as a bride seven months before. “Isn’t it lush?” Cherry yawned, raising a small, bare white arm to wave it languidly in a gesture that included the beautiful old house, the orchard, the old-fashioned garden, and, in the distance, the model dairy barns and clover fields, in which Nils Jonson’s blooded cattle drowsed through the long, hot afternoon. "Contented cows, ’ she murmured, her golden eyes narrowing as she studied the distant cattle. “Heavens knows they ought to be contented. Nils pampers them as if they were visiting royalty. “He’s put a fortune into those pedigreed beasts, but they are beauties, and I love them ... I have a darling little fawn-colored calf that I’ve named Faith ... Do you mind? “She’ll be a blue-ribbon milk cow some day. Isn’t it funny, Faith?— Me, a contented cow, too! Imagine it, darling—l’m still in love with my husband . . . And you with Bob?” “More than ever,” Faith answered simply. “Robin—God bless him!— was just what we needed. I feel so utterly married, Cherry—‘wedded deep’ as a writer expressed it.” “Funny, but I don’t feel that way,” Cherry announced, a little rebelliously. “I feel as if I’m living with a lover, who might leave me any minute if he got tired of me. “Perhaps it’s because Nils never makes any promises about loving me forever, or even next week. It’s an exciting game to get him to say he loves me at all—” “Oh, but he adores you!” Faith scoffed, laughing her low, rich contralto laugh. “You’re just working hard at keeping the thrill in marriage, and Nils is clever enough to guess your game and play it, too. “I’m afraid Bob isn’t at all subtle. He’s definitely a -husband, and seems mightily relieved that the first hard year of doubt and adjustment and misunderstanding is over.” “Relieved—or bored?” Cherry asked lazily, as 11 unconscious of

wouldn’t want you to take on like this. And it’s pretty tough on mother. You’re too darn smart to go dragging ’round Ike an old woman. It’s a good old world, after all. And we’re only young once.” He brought men to the house, and urged her to make up parties. “We’re a girl short, Sybil,” he used too say. “Dick’s girl went back on him. Won’t you fill in like a good sport? Dick Wright—you know. He’s a prince of a fellow.” Os course, she saw through Tad, but to please him, she went .sometimes. nan THE Eighteenth Amendment had been passed, and drinking was becoming lamentably smart. Flasks nad come in, and a really daring present for a man to give a girl was an enameled flaconette for her oag. Girls had begun to smoke, too. Men were saying you never knew whether a giri would be insulted if you offered her a cigaret or offended if you didn't. Soldiers everywhere had been mustered out of service, and women were still feting them. Doughooys walked where angels feared to tread, and gobs were household pets It was eminently respectable for “nice”, girls to scrape acquaintance with men in uniform. The marines had become social lions. Everywhere the ex-service man was sitting pretty. Unless, of course, he happened to be incapacitated, or looking for a job. Club women were beginning to get excited, and talk reforms. For a crime wave hit the country. . . . And even the girls were going crazy. They rolled their stockings, and checked their corsets when they went to dances. Eventually they discarded them altogether, but that was not until later. Cosmetics sprang into favor, and women began to make up like Jezebels. “The evils of the war” became a sort of slogan. People talked despairingly of “the youth of the land,” and wondered what they were going to do about it. Important persons were interviewed on what they thought of the modem girl. Desiring to be broadminded, they eulogized her, not knowing what it was all about. And, meantime, she went from bad to worse. Someone had coined the word flapper. And the flappers, little sisters to the war brides, took to dressing exactly alike. They wore colored skirts of homespun, frayed about the bottom, instead of hemmed. Brilliant little sweaters that they called slip-ons. Flat soled shoes—everyone, until then, had worn high heels. < And large hats with flat crowns clapped on the sides of their heads. They cut their hair, and called it Castle clips, for Irene Castle, who had lost her own after a fever, and wore what she had left short of necessity. Brothers of the ex-service men began to grow up. They were, for the most part, a decaf :nt lot, their deficiencies emphasized by contrast. They were called parlor snakes, cake eaters and loung lizards. At first they went in for skimpy, pinchbacked suits with high waist lines. They cultivated a carriage that rivaled the popular debutante slouch, and became dancing fools with long hair. When the Prince of Wales visited America, they changed their sartorial effects, and embraced baggy models. (To Be Continued)

her cruelty. “Don’t let him get to feeling too awfully married, honey. Bad for him—bad for you. “By the way, I had lunch with Bob yesterday when I was in town shopping and he says you invited that Crystal girl to stay on indefinitely. Bad business, sister o’ mine.” Faith flushed and pushed the moist dark hair away from her high forehead with a hand that, surprisingly enough, trembled a little. She had not known that Bob had lunched with Cherry. ... He had not told her. . . Were there other things he didn’t tell her? “Crystal needs me, Cherry. She’s an orphan, you know, without a penny. I felt that, in a way, I owed it to Bob to do something for Crystal, since I had—had—” (To Be Continued)

Dial Twisters Daylight Saving Time Meters Given in Parentheses

WFBM (275.1) INDIANAPOLIS (Indianapolis Power & Light Cos.) —Thursday— Noon 12:00—Correct time, courtesy Julius C. Walk & Son; Lester Huff on studio organ. P. M. 12:30—Livestock market reports, Indianapolis and Kansas City. I:oo—Correct time; afternoon musicals. 4:so—ltems of interest from Indianapolis Times Want Ads. s:oo—Correct time. s:ls—“What’s Happening,’’ Indianapolis Times. S:3O—A chapter a day from the New Testament. s:4s—Safety talk, Lieut. Frank Owens, Indianapolis police department. s:so—‘"Care of the Hair and Scalp,” Hair-A-Gain Studios. s:ss—Baseball scores right off the bat. Indianapolis Star. 6:oo—Ed Resener with WFBM dinner ensemble. 6:so—Veterinary talk for farmers. Dr. J. C. Vance. 7:oo—Josephine Aumann on studio organ. 7:3o—Marott Hotel trio, courtesy KruseConnell Company. B:oo—Chamber of Commerce message, Ed Hunter, secretary. B:os—Staff mixed auartet. B:3o—Earle Howe Jones, staff pianist. B:4s—Johnnie Robinson and his Royal Blue Novelty Band. 9:4s—Romany 'Duo. 10:00—“The Columnist,” Indianapolis Star. WKBF (252) INDIANAPOLIS (Hoosier Athletic Club Station) . „ —Thursday— A. M. 10:00—Recipe exchange. 10:15—Brunswick Panatrope. 10:25—Interesting bits of history, courtesy of Indianapolis public library 10:30—WKBF shopping service. 11:30—Live stock and grain market; weather and shippers forecast. P. M. s:oo—Late news, bulletins and sports. o:oo—Dinner concert. 7:3o—Raymond Ball and Ruth Matthews. B:oo—Studio hour, under the direction of Mrs. Will C. Hits. B:oo— Circle Theater.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

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MiECKEES AND HIS FRIENDS

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

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OUR BOARDING HOUSE

—By Williams

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On, legislative mistake of Jefferson's administration \ - caused hard times in th United States. That was the \ - Embargo act, forbidding any trade with foreign counA sad event of Jeffer- tries, passed with the intention of punishing France and son’s administration was England. Jefferson, like Washington, however, had a the slaying of Alexander chance for a third term, which he declined. He died Hamilton by Aaron Burr July 4,1826, the same day as John Adams, in a duel. sk. Mw^i miH .ep r i l H.<M.Tk.c nh rs KM , (To Be Continued)*J1 -l fjyria ..." 'ft l i V'-'r W■ ' r 11 ■ *

SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCHEB

A.UG. 23, 1928

—By Ahern

—By Martin

—By Blosser

—By Oran*

—By Small

—By Taylor