Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 107, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 September 1928 — Page 8

PAGE 8

WHIRLWIND COPYRIGHT 192& £f NEA SERVICE INC. &y ELEANOR EARLY

THIS HAS HAPPENED SYBIL THORNE, home from a ghastly honeymoon, is living with her mother in Bostonl Nobody knows Sybil is married except MABEL BLAKE and Mabels finance. JACK MOORE. Sybil married BICHARD EUSTIS in Havana after a five-day courtship at sea. The marriage lasted two weeks. Sybil, after learning of her husband’s unbelievable infidelity, returned to Boston with Mabel. CRAIG NEWHALL. her old sweetheart, meets her at the pier, but his manager is strangely distant, and Sybil wonders If he could enow anything of her 10mance. Sue is wretchedly unhappy because oi her tragic secret, and also because cn the recent death of her father find the marriage of her brother, TAD, to VALERIE WEST, a frivolous and selfish little debutante. . . _ . MRS. THORNE, who Is also heartbroken, takes up psychoanalysis at Valerie’s suggestion and gets anew outlook on life. Valerie, in one f her tantrums, flings from the room because Sybil and Tad seem unappreciative of her efforts on their mother’s behalf. Mrs. Thorne, always apologetic for Val. suggesis that maybe she is going to ha NOVV b GO' ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER XXVII SYBIL laughed shortly. “Not a chance,” she opined. “Valerie wasn’t born yesterday.” Mrs. Thorne blushed painfully. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she reproved her daughter mildly. J . _ . “Who started it?” demanded Tad. and catching her to him, kissed her roughly and laughed at her discomfort. “If Mother’s got her heart set on a grandchild, I guess you’ll have to get married, Sib.” Across his mother’s head he winked broadly. “A girl ought to be willing to do that much for her poor old mother.” Mrs. Thorne pushed him gently from her. “Freshie!” she murmured in the fashion of her girlhood and slapped him with a pink rose. u n u SEPTEMBER was hot in Boston that year. Quiet, with hardly a breath of air; and the heat rising in little puffs from the cobble stones. After school small boys swam in the Prog Pond and grownups patronized the swan boats. Firemen sprinkled down the streets. And the newspapers chronicled the temperature in screaming headlines, with lists of prostrations in red print. Mrs. Thorne felt the heat painfully. “If you’d had sense enough to stay at Wianno!” Sybil reproached Valerie. “Thats right—blame it on me. “Well, you dragged mother home.” “Oh, of course—it’s all my fault.” The girls had stopped speaking, when Valerie' decided to visit friends in New Haven. “You’ll be glad enough to be rid of me,’ she remarked, which was so true that Sybil refrained from comment. Tad was to make a western trip on business. “And when I get back,” he declared firmly, “Val end I are going to look around for a place of our own. It’s an awful impositionstaying here. Val- doesn't realize, of course—but mothers not so young as she used to be.” It was Sybil who packed his bags and sewed his buttons on and drove him to the station when he went away. Valerie had an engagement that evening to play bridge. The next day she was leaving for Connecticut.

IT was lonely for Sybil when she and her mother were there alone, since Craig had more or less effaced himself, and Sybil was rather avoiding her old crowd. Craig had declared himself quite definitely. “I don’t like being a footstool,” he told her. “And I’m all through bothering you, Sybil. I guess maybe you’ve found my protestations annoying. You know I love you. I’d do anything for you. But I don't seem to know how to make you care for me. So, I’m going to drop out of the picture for a while.” “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she parried lightly, half glad of the relief of promised solitude. “So I’ve noticed,” he retorted, “fonder of the other man.” She wondered if there was any Significance in the remark. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you,” he offered. “Oh, Craig!” she protested, “don’t be silly!” "Well, I just wanted you to know.” he insisted awkwardly. “Any time you want me, let me know.” n n tt AFTER that she saw him infrequently, and missed him more than she had thought possible.

€(uick safe relief

Dr. Scholl’s Zino-pads end com pain the minute they are applied by cushioning the corn and removing the cause —friction and pressure of shoes. These small, thin, soft, protective pads heal corns naturally and with absolute safety and surety. That is why doctors use and recommend them. Buy a box today. At all drug, shoe and dept, stores.

I)£'Scholl's Zino-pads Put one on—the pain is gonel

3 Roam Outfit U t I-I nnrlitionrd Tuinttuit I tvmFURNiriRUo II ■! United Tiacif-In Stoic TERMS 844 South Meridian 1

Expert Truss Fitting at 129 W. Wash. St. Store Abdominal Supports and Shoulder Braces HAAG’S CUT-PRICE DRUGS

Occasionally he sent flowers and a box of candied fruits to Mrs. Thorne, who was pleased that he remembered her preference. Munching a sugared pineapple or succulent pear she would contemplate Sybil gloomily over her sweet and remark, as usual, that she could go further and fare worse. Once after that Craig took Sybil to a road house. It was the first time she had done anything gay for weeks. She wore a dress of lilac chiffon and pinned a great bunch of silk violets on her shoulder. She wore a top coat of soft mauve and a little felt hat that matched. Almost all men, she reflected, liked orchid and purple and all the royal shades between. Craig had often told her violet was his favorite color. She slipped alr string of amethysts about her neck and fastened gleaming quartz, fashioned like grapes, in her ears. Across the candle-lit table Craig bent toward her desirously. It was nice and cozy, sitting across from each other like that. Impulsively she reached for his hand, and brushed it lightly across her lips. He smiled quietly and pinched her cheek; then gravely lighting a cigaret, studied her remotely through clouds of smoke. i “Rather nice, isn’t it?” he remarked idly.

“Nice? r Oh, Craig, it’s wonderful —being together, I mean,” she assured him. “I haven’t enjoyed anything so for ages.” Through dinner he remained distantly affable and ail the blessed little intimacies of long igo were like painful memories. Sybil poured his voffee and when he had taken it from her her fingers closed softly about his wrisc. Then, swiftly, he sought her eyes and held them until she bent, confused, to finger her beads. “Craig.” She whispered softly. “Do you still want to marry mo. Craig?” He took her hands then, and held them with both of his. “You know I do, dear,” he said. She was tempted then to tell him everything. “Would you marry me,” she asked, “if you knew I’d been a very ; bad girl?” He smiled and inclined his head gravely as one humoring a child • “Yes’m,” he told her seriously. “If you knew I’d been—oh, something dreadful—married, perhaps?” Then he laughed, and mussing his napkin mightily, threw it in a great heap on the center of the table. “Come on,” he invited heartily, “let’s dance! And lay off this marriage stuff, will you, Sybil? Pounding away on a sore spot’s no good, you know.” “But I meant it!” she cried. “Yes, you did!” he muttered. “You’ve got about as much intention of marrjing me as nothing at all. So let’s stop talking about it. Do your theorizing with some other guy, because it doesn’t get anywhere with me, Syb’.” “Shall we dance?” she asked him stiffly. He held her closely and looked grimly down on the little mauve hat that nestled on his shoulder. Her eyes, beneath its brim, were wet with tears. But of course he could not know that, nor guess when a big salty drop splashed on her violets .... And that was the end, for a while, of their romance. a u AUTUMN followed on the heels of Indian summer; and November was cold and drear and gray. Dead leaves whirled in dusty spirals and a penetrating dampness made Sybil shiver as she set out , one afternoon to call on Mabel at Wester House. Jack was home again and Mabel had her ring now. Not the conventional engagement ring at all —but a delicate platinum circlet, set with sapphires. With it she would wear her wedding ring, like a guard. And later Jack would give her a twin band, set with pearls. Sapphires—diamonds—pearls—it was

As Crystal Hathaway sat before her dressing table that Saturday evening, making up her face for her "blind date” with Dick Talbot, her large hazel eyes glanced frequently at the front page of the afternoon newspaper: “I CHANGED MY MIND,” SAYS CAPRICIOUS “TONY” Beneath the heavy black capitals ran the explanatory italics: “ ‘Tony Tarver, new-rich society beauty, breaks engagement with Richard Warrington Talbot, handsome scion of wealthy ‘old’ family.” The sensational story was "dressed up” with gorgeous photographs of Tony Tarver and Dick Talbot. "Home less than two weeks from Bradley, fashionable girls’ college, Antoinette Tarver, already known to every flapper, sheik and traffic officer In Stanton as ‘Tony,’ has managed to climb to first place in two unofficial contests—beauty and popularity—among Stanton’s ‘wild younger generation.’ “Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Tarver of Serenity Boulevard, ‘Tony’ required just one week to become engaged to Richard Warrington Talbot, only son of Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Warburton Talbot, millionaires and social arbiters of Stanton’s most exclusive circles, and rather less than a week to grow tired of her hasty bargain. Today’s society column carries the formal engagement, over the signature of the capricious young beauty’s mother, until recently an obscure housewife on humble Myrtle St., which has become famous in Stanton as the thoroughfare on which lived beautiful Cherry Lane, acquitted of the murder of her aged fiance, Mr. Ralph Cluny. “ ‘Tony,’ when interviewed today, refused to make any comment other than ‘I changed my mind.’ “‘lt is all my fault,’ said gallant

the very latest idea. They were to be married in the Spring. Sybil was carrying a white tissue package, tied with satin ribbons. A nightgown of knife-pleat-ed chiffon in palest flesh, with pink satin roses peeping through the sheerness of it. Her engagement gift to Mabel. And, primarily, her excuse for intruding on a busy Wednesday afternoon. The telephone operator directed her to the third floor. Mabel was clinic director of a place called the G. Y. N. Sybil did not know what that meant, but apparently it was a clinic for women—the most depressing, distressful women. They sat about on benches, their damp clothes odorous in the unpleasant warmth of the place. It was raining out, and slushy, and some of them had left rubbers on the register. Now the rubbers smelled, and thefr cheap furs reeked with the loathsome smell of wet dyes. Children played about their knees, clinging to their skirts. They were unhappy, frightened looking children with running noses and ugly, misfit clothing. Mabel looked up from the desk where she sat before a great card ! index. A woman who had been crying softly turned away, and Mabel wrote on a little card and inserted it in the index. "Next Thursday then, Mrs. Brennan,” she said. “And you mustn’t be frightened.” a a a THEN she saw Sybil standing uncertainly in the doorway, her eyes shifting from one frowsy wretched creature to another. In a second Mabel had crossed the room, her white clinic apron blowin gout behind her like a starched sail. She threw her arms around Sybil and kissed her on the mouth. “Sybil Thorne! I haven’t seen you for ages. Only this morning I was saying to Aunt Emily, ‘I simply must phone Sib—l don’t know what she’ll think of me.’ My dear, I’m glad to see you. What an adorable jacquette. Sit down honey. I’ve iorty people waiting to see me—but let ’em wait. What’s the news, Sib?” Sybil proffered her package. “I've been intending to get down with this for ages”’ “Oh, my dear, it’s lovely—per- j fectly exquisite!” Mabel handled it rapturously. “I never say anything so beautiful.” “Well, that’s not all that brought me down,” admitted Sybil, and glanced apprehensively toward the X-ray rooom. “Can anyone hear us, Mab?” “Not a soul dear. What’s on your mind.” - , “I’m going to have a baby.” The night gown slipped from Mabel's fingers and all the joy in her good plain face turned to misery. "Are you sure?” “I went to the doctor’s yesterday. Next May, he says.” Sybil turned, suddenly faint, toward the window, and, when Mabel had opened it, she leaned on the sill. Spasmodic dry chokings and horrible sounds came from her throat. She threw her arms over her face, to stifle the noise she made. “It wouldn’t be so bad—if—if— ’’ She could not say it. There were tears in Mabel’s eyec, but Sybil’s were hard and dry. “Don’t, dear,” she cried. “It will be all right.” Sybil shook her head. “It’s—it’s awful!” she gasped, "I hate him, Mabel—l hate him! His baby ” She stood with her back to the window, and her head against the glass, moving it restlessly. Her eyes were wild and hunted. (To Be Continued) Sybil and Mabel prepare for Christmas at the Settlement House. And Sybil, her heart softened, discovers that she does not hate Richard’s child. Anew glimpse of Sybil in the next chapter.

Dick Talbot, to the reporter. ‘I jumped to the conclusion that Tony would marry me, just because she did not definitely say she would not, and informed her parents and mine of the engagement. I hope that she will yet consent to marry me, but until she makes up her mind to do so,, the engagement of course is off. ” "Dear Dick—gallant Dick,” Crystal murmured. "Being a gentleman, what else could you say to the reporter? But we know—don’t we, my Richard? “I wonder what the reporter would have written if he had known that you called me up at 8:30 this morning and asked for a date? Some day, Richard o’ mine. I shall tell you how I felt, how terribly fast my heart beat, when I heard your voice—your dear gruff voice—asking me so curtly if I'd give you a ‘blind date’ for tonight. “Were you afraid I should say no, Richard?” she murmured tenderly to the pictured fact of the dark, to-good-looking boy. Faith's voice broke in upon her sentimental murmurings: "A date tonight, Crystal? Can I help you dress? Bob and I are going to dinner at the Country Club again, and I thought you might like to go along, if you had no other plans.” Crystal’s face flamed as she tried to hide the newspaper propped against her mirror. "Thanks awfully, Faith, but I have a date—with Dick Talbot.” "Dick Talbot?” Faith echoed incredulously, a frown drawing her dark eyebrows together. “I see you have read the paper. I do wish they would quit rehashing poor Cherry’s story. . . Are you sure you want to go out tonight with Dick Talbot—under the circumstances?” (To Be Continued)

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

W X HAD To DO f P&oPUi VNE.RE caiwimC* wwaollii; UP A3OOT 'ikeiP? PApEPJs hu’ PAPER 'YY AogvA LUCK • YfP AMO LUE> PA lE, WOPVW J Beu£ SO |j§|§ # r dm* TOF oveß-riMte. i \_er wm i ||yp Twt-w Coulon x o W; 0,0 <0 THE. Camvav_ Bm,v HoseuwDjlpllp; f a lF HE PROMISED TO BE- A ‘SWELL BOFA PIU£R g L HOkaE. TmE. J cro a * amo S I A bPAMtt , g: , WHY MOTHERS GET GRAY. " j Btcmmoff. f-X* BY HIM 6CTYU-C. WC. J

BOOTS AND IIER BUDDIES

AYY R\GVT , \iOOI-3 -\F GO'.ixi TO fiOW ,Y6TtM SORT 1 . TtRES f TH t RADIO TEACH ROM TO FCT -THE CARYFOVCT TO j AMMETER-AM’ TH V\A6MF7IC MOST \HIRORT AMY VART OF AW ,\*b MAAT \ SAT !ji COMPASS-AM" 6AS t \JAVME > TV\AT TOO F'.RST OUtJtRSTAUO THE FIRST, XVU J AM’ A'CV'.M’tTER-AM \6tOTOU FoMOAMT.MTA\. TWM6S A EXVYA'M THE J SWTC.HFS AW’ EAMK \MO'>CATOR RYAMt - \MSTPOMYMT f AM’ PVtSSORt j ——c _ f 30ARO TO , j fcAO&E AM’ TV.’ J

FRECKLES AND UIS FRIENDS

DC f xC)UJrs PA7W£RB 6 1 -fHjc fior 1 ( LTEU-YDGmjaat yZiGHb OF IMVooaaPCUSTUAM \ rn go ijuvucriDcOS." W AARONS OF/vycMJM. ) 70 S&E MOAAr VJOMA7CMA DOI/U’ VJI7W \ rOW BOV”'

WA ' ON Tl BBS 11

f IT’S geCN I€N DATS SINCE HUPSOM BeV CAPTUft£p \ A f US, 602 TANARUS, AN’ NOTHIN’S HAPPEMgp T£T. IF HE’S OUT J '

SALESMAN SAM

r / Hev, ,th' cmee Toco weTft \ / (wovJV ‘Scwe. hot mtcel.THts must’s i ,aw' we.K= V* cp, #vu'-reu- V e-e tw i*u_ tost \ T^- 6C> OOT To ~ w ’ PeceTRACK \ MoSe ground an’ see-

MON ’N POP

■lt HWE THAT FOR N INMESTI6ftIiON / AWkN AND tttME Mt 10 vKi J TheynnEßE y t, I POR TVNt D'UVit'RS.m.u/ ,atms on ) lyj \ cheap r~f rWIENT KkJ \ * rwe #7 /> v \ • V m / s C

THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

was tha only president whp served raP two terms not in succession. The story of his life Cleveland ‘clerked in exemplifies American opportunity. Cleveland s early the vi | laKe Btore at Fay _ youth was spent at Fayetteville, N. Y. There were nine etteville for his board and children in,the family and Cleveland’s father, a Yale lodging and fifty dollars graduate, made but a thousand dollars a year, so there a anc i saV ed his were few luxuries in the home. money to go to college. k R y Thr o u t*Jßpecial Permission of the Publisher* of the look of Knowledge, Copyright. 1923-26. JO e>

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

—By Williams

ipea Wl coulpA’Tsell I ABOUT MYTALKI*i<3 SI6AA-BoARD2p^TH , OAjL v /APPLE “u PAPES PUTUAiG j UIELL y ~ uH,-~ UM-M- ER, * \ THAT RIPEAiEP j A SHIP WRECK, /'THAT' is,vc aHv“NTb BE TRUTHFUL, IoM VaUR WHOLE I BUT <slv/g I Have \—V VT UIoULPTAKE -THOUSANDS / TREE? —AM I TALKING ! QiF POLLARS -To PUT IT QAi THE L Maul YoU'RE S | MARKET, —t AMP WHILE I Go/Uc To Toss ; .LT,, i-TTiiiiV-S ( STILL THI Li KIT A 'REMARKABLE J \T AUIAY 2 —HK, n!u? MfcSl 1 IPEA, I CAtff GET AMY BODY / UIELL, X J } IKiTERESTEPTo ElLiAklcE THE < A pHoTq- A? A \ PRoposiTo/d ! •—*-<- so IVe L. GRAPH Would J “ 1. II -!• ■ l

Jw/skptwH ' COULD EMAME AAMEAIEBRA- /yCO SBOIUM'

r yf- tOT 1 . I CAN’T FI66ER IT OUT. IT’S COT m ) /'SVIOO'. DON’T GO ASVM6 RiOOies. f OOtSSIMG. \NVAvTS we CrONMK DO WlTv\ OS? / fit l IS THAT VtE'RE IN FOR ( W-\S wt TAKIN’ OS HUNDREDS o' MU.es / ff. WCRt IM TH' OERNDGST SCRA?E l INTO TH* PESeRT? AND WHERE IS HE VaF OUR UVES - ANO THERE'S ' VNW ° UT lT ‘ S' 11 ’ MF. ■> F.

f r wet-L, c*N HA ©cat THAT? (>J|k ( 2S Or 4 B OM > ( THeRe'S ttH OLD NAG-, BcMBONi ’. ' : V Tft’WlN V AN’ <W THIS ROCG-,Tool, MOW 1 w \ K.HOW VWftT TP OO WITH TH’ ffm 7 / tj V WON IN ' " '">s, t eim v c towel ,'r mo.u. *. MT.crr! l - - - • • -■ ~r> “•*>—

The young man borrowed the money to go to Just as ho was o-ottinw ,and ' 0> > named after one of his -ancestors, Moses , ready to enter collfge hil Cleaveland. From Cleveland he went to Buffalo where father died and the an unc l Q lived. He worked and studied law. He had dream of colleo-© was no instruction, but had to dig out everything for himpiven ud For°a V( ,, r self. Be developed that stubborn perseverance for Cleveland taught in a which he later became noted. In 1859 he was ad-, school for the blind. 9-24 m,tted t 0 th *.^* r^ s e < To 3fcfi§C tinued ) , til*: 9

AK> AWT TV A'.YtROMS ,OM TKCH VOiMS flWiVi TV WUDSW. HTWt CMtS TOO < bK< ?AM \ S TOO COMTRCY VYNMT ST TV ftNYTROMS , TOO? OWTCTIOM- \T SWVMOS TH’ TWY\MG YOU, WUOOTW AM TWOATORS —\F TOO WAMMA TM\_ OF P'IAW Y’Gc A SW,?S OR ART YOU RA\ST A VO\Mfc,YOO Y.OWTR TV AVtROM RWDTR - AM’ TV WTViKORS TtYUMS Mt °M FHAT S\DT —TVST'Rc USTO T.OSTLT TO OM TH’ S\OYS ART. VOVAT ASOOT TVS SAMR - VHYYRT ’’PCT OM' TO 6ST SST FOR _ MAVCY TV,' 9YAMS 60 RIAVW A A TORM - ROYVT.O S>ACK VMVTM TOo'R£ CO OR RCWM-TCRM\M’-AM' TVtM TAROWM tM Th' ThFT RWSt TV f / OVVOSTF. D\RECT>OM TO i TA\Y,\F YOY.TRTO-I^#^ MT REQ. U. 9.'PAT. OFF, f, T9?e, pr wca^-i

Ip'jovr OPEH f CM SOU DON'T f\ COT A GPUTTINCxY -/ GO OMI'D UVds m J j B'lL anv Dvvmefc? / headache, i Turn ) EXCUSE so CA-ifc IV\ / \ I'M j WM CM EARTH / l IU. UE, DOblW"/

SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCUEB

SEPT. 24,1928

By Ahern

—By Martin

Bv Blosser

Hv ( rifl

By Small

By Cowart