Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 110, Indianapolis, Marion County, 27 September 1928 — Page 13

SEPT. 27,1928.

(CHAPTER XXIX, Continued) Sybil gazed reflectively at the swirling snow that beat against the windows. “There’ll be a smash-up there, Mab,” she predicted, “as sure as you’re a foot high.” # tt # THAT evening Sybil met Craig. “I’d rather be cut in little pieces,” she told Mabel. “I’m having dinner with him at the Copley. I don’t know how I’m going through with It.” She wore a black dress, with .jjparls in her ears and at her throat. She was deathly pale, though her lips were scarlet, and the dark circles beneath her eyes gave her a tragic loveliness. Like all beautiful women, Sybil was appreciative, in life’s darkest moments, of effect. “I look like Mona Lisa,” she thought, and smiled sadly in the mirror. She took a taxi down, and found Craig waiting in the lobby. In evening clothes he always struck her as being rather magnificent. . She greeted him gaily, “Hello, f Handsome!” “Hello, yourself.” They clasped Grands warmly. “Sybil, you look ill, darling!” His concern was reassuring. She forced a small smile, conscious of the fitness of the thing—a tremulous little smile. “I’ve something awful to tell you, Craig.” “What is it, dear?" He drew her to one of the broad seats in Peacock Alley. “No. Let’s go in the dining room. I want music—and people around — and nice, smells. It’s sort of barren out here.” The head waiter led them to their favorite table, in r corner removed from the orchestra, and lit the candles, and brought pink roses in a silver vase. Sybil leaned her elbows on the table. “Craig, I’m going to hurt you awfully.” She cupped her chin in her hands —swallowed resolutely—and began again. “I—l—Craig, I was married last summer.” a tt HE had been searching her pale features with a puzzled, kind concern. Now it seemed to her that his face grew hard and cold, as if it had been frozen, or carved from stone. Bravely she held his eyes with hers. Her throat was dry, and somewhere in the back of it was a g;cat choking lump. She moistened/her lips with the tip of her torigue, and they felt parched and dry like chalk. Her tongue was dry too. And her mouth filled sickeningly with saliva that flowed from inside her cheeks. Craig, across the table, never took his eyes from her face. His cheeks were white. The seconds dragged like minutes. “And now,” she said, “I—l’m going to have a baby, Craig.” *\.fWhat does Craig say? And what does Craig do? The next chapter for details of his reaction to Sybil’s startling news.) CHAPTER XXX ONLY Craig’s lips twitched, and a little cord in his neck. Sybil thought of a sketch she had seen of a foreign dictator, with a leonine head. People called him the Tragic Man of Destiny. Now Craig looked like that—a composite of tragedy. She saw the agony in his eyes, and. could have cried aloud. Her own were full of fear—wild, hunted fear. And so they sat—reading one another’s misery, in dreadful silence. She reached and touched his hand. It lay on the tablecloth, motionless. And when she fondled it, it felt like ice. He opened his mouth to speak. “Why. . . .” Words came hard. He seemed to wrench them out, with effort. “Why . . , didn’t you tell me . . . before?” “I couldn’t,” she told him. Ineffectually she patted his hand. “His name was Richard Eustis. I hate him now. I ... I left him— In Havana. Shall I tell you about it?” tt tt tt SHE talked in small, jerky sentences. “I think I must have been crazy. . . It was all so sudden. . . . The Captain—and those women. . . . Mab begged me not to. . . . And then that very night. . . . Oh, it was awful. . . . Drink—drink—drink.. . . Five months now.” A dull red suffused the grayness of Craig’s face, and an obsequious titer, hovering near, stared in rtled surprise. \“Oh, please,” Sybil interrupted herself nervously. “Send that man away. He’s listening to every word —I know he is.” Then Craig shifted his dreadful, penetrating gaze from her pale face and motioned abstractedly. “Bring Miss Thorne breast of chicken, please, under glass, with mushrooms—and coffee.” ' it She remonstrated feebly, shaking fter head. Tears were in her eyes Bid a little hysterical laugh on her Kips. “Oh, Craig—Craig, you angel! Who in all the world, would feed a ft ad girl chicken under glass!” ™ When it came, she toyed with it, Aand tasted a bit when Craig begged ftl4 to—and poured large cups of coffee. ■tCream, my dear? Three lumps, jiWt it?” a bit of p’easant domesticity. Bagedy set with the social niceties. ;Hrhe waiter handed a stearrrng to Craig, and discreetly withHw. Mph. life ...” Sybil threw out hands. “It’s so funny. I tell that I am married. That I am to have a child. And then fcMrpcur you a cup of coffee. Quite lf it didn't matter. I—l break

Jwp Sir/eAd

your heart—and then—l give you three lumps of sugar. Life’s so . . . comical!” She laughed nervously. “I suppose—if we weren’t so polite—you —you'd beat me soundly. . . .You don’t hate me, Craig?” He shook his head. “I—l think I’ll go away next month.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth to quiet the trembling of her lips. “Until May.” “To . . . him?” “Oh, no . . .no! Craig, you don’t understand. He doesn’t know. I haven’t seen him—since Havana. I don't want ever to see him again.” They were quiet then. “People will probably say dreadful things,” she hazarded, at last. “I suppose so,” he agreed. tt tt tt HE was thinking of their crowd. Dolly Weston and the Graysons. Valerie and her friends, and the righteous Mr. West. And all the drinking, loose cliqde at the country culb. People who commit only conventional sins are always intolerant of the unconventionalists. “You poor little kid,” he said, as he thought upon their wagging tongues. “Oh, Craig, you’re wonderful! You’re so good you hurt. I—l’d almost rather you slapped me!” Sybil was trembling violently. “M . . my t . . teeth are ch . . chat . . tering. I’m so shivery!” “Nervous reaction,” he told her, and bundled her into her coat. Then he caHed a cab, to take her home. He tucked her in warmly, and gratefully she pillowed her head on his shoulder. His arm about her shoulders held her close. The steps at her house were icy, and, lest she slip, he carried her to the door. There he shook hands, and stood for a minute, speechless, with bared head, and his face as wintry as the night. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she cried. She raised her head, and he touched her lips lightly with his. “Good night, little girl.” tt tt u SHE let herself in quietly. The house was (..ark and cold, and cheerless. She tiptoed upstairs, and down the hall to her room. Undressing in the dark, she crawled into bed, and curled up, to keep warm, like a child, with her arms about her knees. Then, in the cold and the dark, tears came—and all the bitter sorrow and regrets that come at midnight to tired women, alone with their thoughts. tt tt tt VALERIE suggested a trip to South Carolina. Sybil herself felt that it would be better to go away somewhere. But Mrs. Thorne, after consulting Mr. Crandon, felt that nothing would be gained by secrecy. At 3 p, ir.. on Jan. 21 Mrs. Thorne told her psycho analyst all about it. She had gone to him directly from the store, where she had ordered, of a discreet clerk, 500 belated announcements of her daughter’s marriage. . . . “Mrs. Edward Thorne announces the marriage of her daughter, Sybil. ...” “Don’t you think we had better date them July?” she had asked tearfully of Tad. “But Mother!” expostulated Sybil.

THE NEW AH 111 V.\ 11IIMJT ByJlnneJlmtin CKa^msEKvia.n(ic

“I like you,” Tony Tarver decided aloud suddenly, as Harry Blaine, reporter on the Evening Press, guided her not very skillfully through a fox trot. “Lady, you interest me strangely,” he retorted with mock solemnity. “Let’s duck out of this. I’m sick of being stabbed in the back by Dick Talbot’s rapier glances of scorn and jealousy.” “I don’t like to leave poor Crystal,” Tony demurred. “But, oh, there are Faith and Bob Hathaway, and George Pruitt. If Dick deserts her, they’ll rescue her.” “So this is the famous ‘necking jungle,’ ” Harry Blaine observed, as they entered the narrow belt of woods. "I say, Tony, Tarver, you’re a dead game little sport.” “Why?” Tony demanded, truculent but pleased. “Because I refused to allow Dick Talbot to make an ass of himself ? He’s not really badjust young and terribly spoiled.” “Because you saved a nasty situation and mended the torn cloak of another girl’s self-respect,” Harry Blaine answered. “Poor Crystal!” Tony was suddenly grave, her voice very tender “She’s a peach of a girl, really, under —under —” Tony hesitated loyally. “Under all her posing and eyefluttering?” Harry Blaine prompted. “I know the type. Most girls pass through the same attack of delirium tremens —scared to death they won’t get their man, you know.” “I knew I’d like you!” Tony exulted. “I like you, too,” Harry Blaine assured her, heartily casual, without any suggestive side glances or arm-squeezings. “‘Like’! Isn’t it a grand word?” Tony cried. “If you only knew, Harry Blaine, how much nicer it is than ‘love’! I’m sick—for the present—of being made love to. Let’s be friends, Harry—and I mean—‘friends,’ real friends!” “Let’s,” Harry Blaine agreed, gripping her hand firmly, then dropping it without any silly extra pressure. “Now, as one frienc: to another, what, can I do, for you? Would you like for me to rush this Crystal person a bit?" “Would you?” Tony cried. “I do think you’re an angel! Try to fall in love with her just a little bit, so she’ll believe in God again, but don’t take her too seriously if she seems to fall terribly in love with you.” “Are you intimating that a girl

“I didn’t know him in July—l hadn’t even met him!” Valerie shrugged her shoulders eloquently. “I’ll drive you downtown, Mother,” she offered. “And you can take a taxi to Mr. Crandon’s.” tt tt tt THE afternoon sun was slanting across the crimson rug in Mr. Crandon’s consultation room. In the alcove beyond a maid was busying herself with tea cups and a delft cracker jar. There were spicy carnations in a blue vase and a crackling fire, and a kettle humming on the crane. Mr. Crandon had learned that a confidential atmosphere is a decided aid to psycho. He drew a Bosto rocker a little nearer the blaze, and helped Mrs. Thorne off with her moleskin wrap. “I must have your help,” Mrs. Thorne said, settling a turkey red cushion at her back. “It’s about Sybil. She’s going to have a baby.” Nothing ever surprised Mr. Crandon. He pressed his finger tips together, and shifted his mild blue gaze to near-sighted contemplation of a hangnail. “I want you to tell me what line to take with her,” continued Mrs. Thorne. And then from the beginning, she told the story as best she could. She told about John Lawrence, and what a difficult girl Sybil was at 18. She reviewed a few ear I! sr affairs, and told what slje knew of some later ones. She led tactfully up to Craig Newhall. “I think,” she hazarded, “that there was a sort of understanding between Craig and Sybil, but of course I can’t be sure. You see, Sybil never tells her mother anything.” Mrs. Throne pressed a black bordered handkerchief to her eyes. “Now when I was a girl—” "Yes, yes,” soothed Mr. Crandon gently, and, patting her hand, led her tactfully back to the subject in hand. “Mr. Newhall is something of an austere young man?” “Why, no, I don’t know as you’d call him that,” demurred Mrs. Thorne. “Maybe he’s not just Sybil's type, but—” “As to that,” interrupted Mr. Crandon, “has passion always been a strong factor in your daughter’s life?” Mrs. Thorne bristled a little. “Passion?” she repeated distatefully. “Why, as to passion—” she floundered, a bit helplessly. “I should think,” continued Mr. Crandon without waiting for her to go on, “that your daughter’s inhibitory and repressive powers—you see, my dear Mrs. Thorne —it is like this. ... It would be better, perhaps, to consider her case from the beginning. Let us, for a moment, consider her infancy. Do you, by any chance, remember Sybil’s first lawless action?” Mrs. Thorne pondered vaguely. “She always w r as a defiant child,” she admitted. “I remember how she used to kick her little puff off at night. And the way she threw her bottle out of her crib. But, tell me, Mr. Crandon, you don’t think inhibitions—”* “I certainly do!” acclaimed Mr. Crandon. (To Be Continued) (Mrs. Thorne and Mr. Crandon discuss inhibitions—and Mrs. Thorne reaches a decision regarding Sybil—in the next chapter.)

couldn’t fall seriosly in love with me?” Harry Blaine demanded indignantly. “Now my feelings are hurt! . . . Let’s get ready for our swim. “There’s the moon. Talbot and Crystal brought their bathing suits, too, so the curtain will now go up on the little comedy-drama you’ve been writing tonight . . . Me in the hero role! Me—a hard-boiled newspaper reporter!” (To Be Continued) ‘PERFECTLY SOBER’ MEN TELL OF BIG SNAKE Latest Huge Reptile Story Comes From Jennings County. B/i Times Special COMMISKEY, Ind., Sept. 27. This section of Jennings County is now competing with the Sauers community in tales of a monster reptile. J. E. McQuire, resident of this community, in a letter to a newspaper declares that while he and Charles Wykoff were looking for some strayed sheep they sighted a snake which was twelve or fifteen feet long and could raise its head three feet from the ground. Closing the letter McQuire wrote: “I might add that we both were perfectly sober and in our right mind at the time.” OLD BELL RINGS AGAIN Peals From Terre Haute Church After Twenty Yeears’ Silence. Tji United Press TERRE HAUTE, Ind., Sept. 27. After being silent twenty years the old bell in Calvary Methodist Church here once' more is ringing out its call to all who care to come and worship. Back in the days of the California gold rush in 1849, a little frame church was built on the corner of Fifth and film Sts. Foi thirty-three years the small wooden building and its lone bell answered the needs of the congregation. About twenty years ago the church officials decided the bell should be quieted. It was a discordant note in the busy whirl of downtown life. And from that time until this week the bell had been silent.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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SALESMAN SAM

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MON ’N POP

■( - AND A /tuvA =.otoe"^> s ) is C 5 vTyh?./C’^*s

THE BUOK OF KNOWLEDGE

William McKinley, twenty-fourth president of the United States, was born at Niles, 0., and started the practice of law in Canton. He entered the Civil War though but a boy in years and rose to the rank of major. In 1869 he was elected prosecuting attorney and eight years later was chosen United States Representative. * 9-27 #jr NEA. Through Special Permission of the Publisher* of Tho Byok of Knowledge. Copyright. 192 J-26.

—By Williams

After serving as governor of Ohio from 1891 to 1895, he was nominated by the Republicans and won the presidential race against William Jennings t Bryan.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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- 'myiiynri During his administration war broke out between Spain and her possession, Cuba, which the Spaniards had treated

SKETCHES Bi BESSEY. SYNOESIS BY BKAtCHEB

The president sent the battleship Maine to Havana to inquire into reports that many Cubans were dying of starvation. The Maine was blown up in the harbor ! and many officers and sailors killed. Spaniards were suspected of the act. President McKinley said war on Cuba must stop. Congress declared Cuba free. Spain refused to remove her soldiers'and war began. , Sfc.tche. .tid Syr -r.,,.. Copyright, 1928. Th. Grcti.f 7 1

PAGE 13

By Ahern

—By Martini

Bv Blossen

By Crane

By Small

By Cowari