Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 118, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 October 1928 — Page 11

OCT. 6, 1928..

THIS HAS HAPPENED SYBIL THORNE. Boston society girl, has tiled suit for divorce against her husband, RICHARD EUSTIS, and petitioned for complete custody of her child. TEDDY, one year old. The ease promises varied sensations, and society is all agog. Sybil was secretly married in Havana, and lived with her husbands only two weeks. Following her desertion of him for great and justifiable cause, she heard nothing from him until the awful night she discovered him with her brother TAD’s wife. VALERIE. Valerie had no idea who he was, and had actually planned to leave Tad and go avav with Eustis. There is a dramatic -denouncement, and, afterward, Sybil and Valerie become good friends. Richard Eutis had never beaid of the birth of his child until Sybil’s suit revealed her motherhood. He demands to see his son. and threatens blackmail with the secret of his affair with Valerie. The case is almost ready to go to court, and promises ail sorts of sensational revelations. Tad Thorne disapproves of Sybil's suit, and her mother is quite broken up by it. MRS. THORNE receives considerable solace from MR. CRANDON, a psycho analyst. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY , CHAPTER XXXVIII MR. CRANDON was always interested in divorces. They furnished proof of his contention that sex was at the bottom of very nearly everything. • “Mm-m-m,” he said, and nodded gravely, as Mrs. Thorne recounted the latest phases of the situation. “Sybil,” he continued ominously, “is at a particularly dangerous age. The reckless age I call it. She has outlived the diffident and bashful period of girlhood.” “But Sybil was never diffident,” interrupted Mrs. Thorne, “nor bashful.” Mr. Crandon silenced her with a polite glance. “Girlhood is always shy,” he informed her. “Jazz and gin, and all that sort of thing”—-he raised his eyebrows to indicate repugnance of youth’s follies—“they are nothing but gestures of defiance and independence. As I was saying, your daughter has outlived the shyness of girlhood, and has yet to achieve the prudence and circumspection of middle age. Women of her age are always rash. They see ahead of them the end of youth, and that sends them hurtling down the primrose path. “Your daughter, very likely, craves the love life that circumstances have denied her, and is prepared to cast aside all the inhibitions and repressions imposed by convention. Proof of the strength of her desires lies in her willingnessto flaunt the tale of her marriage in society’s decorous face.” Mrs. Thorne fidgeted uncomfortably. “I am sure,” she corrected him primly, that my daughter does not crave a ‘love life.’ ” “Unconsciously, Mrs. Thorne —unconsciously,” Mr. Crandon assured her. “Women are always torn between the cravings of the primitive ego and the restrictions put upon those cravings by the conventions of society.” “Oh, dear. Oh, dear!” Mrs. Thorne drew a black-bor-dered handkerchief from her little black silk bag, and pulled the ribbon strings together nervously. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she faltered. “Sybil never was one to listen to her mother, and now with her poor father gone—Thank God, Mr. Crandon, that my dear husband never lived to see his daughter disgracing us all.” Mrs. Thorne wiped her eyes and her thin little nose. Mr. Crandon waited for a proper interval to elapse, for the consideration of the departed Mr. Thorne and his probable reactions to Sybil’s impending divorce. Then, clearing his throat, he madeM gentle suggestion. “If you could only persuade your daughter to be analyzed,” he hazarded. “Suppose you try, dear lady." Mrs. Thorne shook her head hopelessly. “It wouldn’t do any good,” she predicted. “I've hinted at it before this, but Sybil only laughs.” It annoyed Mr. Crandon to hear of people who laughed at his powers. Shrugging his shoulders, he dismissed Sybil with a wave of the hand, and launched into a technical contemplation of egos in general, and a Reckless Woman in particular. It always amazed Mrs. Thorne to hear him talk so exactly like a book. Presently her hour was up, and Mr. Crandon helped her on with her wrap. tt tt tt THAT night at dinner, against her own best judgment, she broached the subject to Sybil. “Mr. Crandon is so anixous to meet you, dear,” she said, and tried to sound very casual about it. “He feels sure he could be a great help to you in all your perplexities and —er—emotional upsets.” Mrs. Thorne hesitated delicately: “Mr. Crandon?” Sybil crushed her napkin, and rose indignantly to her feet. “Now, mother, that’s rather the last straw! It’s not enough that every one in Boston’s talking about me—but my own mother ” Mrs. Thorne pushed her roast beef plaintively away, and began to cry softly. Sybil flung from the room, and upstairs. They heard the door of her room slam ,and then the whole large house seemed strangely quiet. “Go on up, Val,” suggested Tad. “Mother and I will have our coffee in the drawing-room. See if you can’t persuade Sib to come down.” Valerie brushed the top of Mrs. Thorne’s head with her lips. “Don’t feel badly. Mother Thorne,” she consoled. “Sybil is fearfully upset, and she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Just wait till I tell her we’re having strawberry shortcake for dessert.” Valerie ran blithely up stairs, and opened Sybil’s door quietly. She lay across her bed, with her face buried in the pillows, and the taffet bedspread dragged to the floor. “Sybil.” Valerie touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m awfu’ly sorry about Mr. Crandon. Maybe it was a mistake—taking your mother to him. But, honestly. Sib. I think he’s done more good than harm. He may be a fraud and ’1 that —I don’t know—but he’s saved Mother Thorne from neurosis. t "She was simply pining away, Sybil, and right on the verge of a nervous breakdown, when Mr. Crandon begain feeding her egos and things. She perked up on inhibi-

tions, and took a fancy to complexes Now she absolutely eats up psycho, though of course she hasn t the vauguest notion of what it’s ali about. But it’s been awfully good for her, Sib. And I think you ought to give her a little fling with poor, decrepit old Crandon. As for selling a story to the papers—why, Sybil, he wouldn’t dare.” Sybil raised a tear-stained face. "Oh, I suppose he wouldn’t,” she admitted.' “It’s only that Mother drives me simply crazy.” Valerie laughed. “Your mother’s put up with a lot from you, Sib,” she .said, “And I guess it’s your turn now. Things work out that way sometimes. But listen, Sybil here’s the thing I really want to talk to you about .... put on some powder, and sit up. . . .1 want to talk about Richard.” Valerie pressed her crimson lips firmly together, and all the soft pink faded from her cheeks, leaving them white as the frock she wore. “That contemptible cad is holding his affair with me over your head,” she said. “I know he is. It would be so exactly like him. And I had rather make a clean breast of the whole business than let Richard blackmail you. I'm going to tell Tad everything. Then we can tell Richard to go to the devil.” Sybil raised herself on one elbow from the rumpled nest of lace and taffeta pillows. “Yes?” she said, and raised her eyebrows. “And what would Tad say?" Valerie’s face crimsoned. “Oh, he’ll say plenty,” she admitted. “But that’s my funeral, Sib.” B a tt QYBIL sat up, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Then, bending impulsively,' she ppt her arms about her sister-in-law, and kissed her. It was the first time. Shamefacedly both girls wiped away quick tears, and because they wanted to cry, laughed instead. “You’re a good egg, Val,” approved Sybil, and cleared her throat because she was profoundly touched. “But lay off confession. A few more fireworks wouldn’t help things a bit. And Tad sure would pop. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides. I don’t believe Richard really intends to tell.” “Then he has threatened?” interrupted Valerie quickly. “Oh, he’s threatened all right,” admitted §ybil. “But what good would it do him? He'll never tell, Val. He’d be afraid to. Tad would simply murder him.” Tad’s voice at the foot of the stairs broke in upon their talk of him. “Hey, girls, come on down. Craig's down here, Syftil.” She powdered her nose hastily. “I havent’ seen him,’ she told Valerie, ‘since I started suit. But of course he’s heard about it. I wonder what he’ll say.” Downstairs she greeted him gaily. "You’re just in time, Craigie . . . Come see Teddy before he goes to sleep.” Teddy in his crib begged to be taken up, and begged so irresistibly that Sybil, smothering him with kisses, took him in her arms, and, sitting in a nursery chair, rode a cock horse to Bnnberry Cross, and then, prettily disheveled, tossed him over to Craig. “He’s such a handful! Rough him up, Craigie. He loves it.” Teddy pulled Craigls hair and his necktie, and laughed until big fat tears ran mirthfully down his baby cheeks. And when the excitement tired him, and he fell into fragrant slumber, Craig lifted him back to his little white bed, and tucked him gently in. "You know, Sib, Dolly Weston says Teddy looks like me.” Sybil laughed with heightened color. “Yes, I know. Lots of people do. Funny, isn’t it?” “It gives me a great kick.” They stood there awkwardly, shoulders touching as they bent above the sleeping child. Loath to

THE NEW Saint-Sinner ByJlnneJlmtin C 19123 iy NEA. SEEVia, INC-

“Well, Crystal,” George grinned, at the girl opposite at a small table in one of Stanton's most expensive restaurants—a fact of which Crystal was happily aware —“I suppose you know by this time that you’re famous. Bob wouldn’t let you see the society section of the Sunday paper yesterday. But I know you’d have more sense than to be sore. “You already have achieved a unique repv'-ation—the only girl in Stanton who ever slapped Dick Talbot for trying to kiss her.” Crystal had to make a quick choice of being pathetic and wistful—one of her best expressions—or of being gaily nonchalant. She chose the latter “But George, dear!” she laughed, tucking her head to one side and fluttering her lashes at him, “may it not become an awful handicap—being known as a girl who slaps attractive men for trying to kiss her? I’m not exactly mid-Victorian, you know!” George’s laughter roared out. “I’m tempted to risk getting my own face slapped in the process of finding out whether you are or not," he retorted gallantly. “But seriously, Crystal, I’m glad you did it. “That young sheik was about due for a fall. And, incidentally, my friend Crystal becomes famous.” “Famous or—notorious?” Crystal asked archly. Then, because the waiter stood at George’s elbow, and there was no immediate opportunity for him to answer, her big hazel eyes, very bright and animated, roved about the beautiful, rather small p rench restaurant. Suddenly h°r eyes rested upon a couple in a far corner, and an involuntary, sharp exclamation escaped her.

dismiss a golden opportunity. Embarrassed to embrace it. Waiting each lor a cue, one from the other. U tt B “T WISH Teddy was yours, -l-Craigie.” “Do you mean that Sybil!” Miserably she nodded. “If I could only be sure of you!" “Oh, Craig!” “But, my dear, you're such a will-o’-the-wisp!” “I know, Craigie. I know. But, I do love you. I’ve missed you fearfully all this year. I—l need you. I—l’m awfully unhappy.” “Biit if John Lawrence were alive you wouldn’t need me. You would not be unhappy then. Oh, Sybil”— Craig flung out his hands—“l’m damned if I can make love to a girl who’s in love with one man, and married another. By the way, I think you might have told me you were getting a divorce.” “I didn’t know you’d be interested.” “You knew very well I’d be interested.” Tad’s step on the stairs startled them. “Hey, you two! Mother says shell report you to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children if you keep Teddy up any longer.” Craig’s hands slipped from Sybil’s shoulders. “I never tried to make love to a girl in my life," he complained, “that someone didn't butt in.” “Sh-h, don't let Tad hear you, dear.” “Oh, hell! I’m always getting shushed.” He kissed her burnished bob lightly. “I do think, though, you might have told me. What do you know about that. Tad? Here's Sib, striking out for freedon—and all I know about it is something I heard at the club. Anybody'd think I was a rank outsider.” Tad scowled darkly. "The whole thing's a mistake. Sib ought to have let well enough alone. There'll be a lot of scandal now. This modern mania for washing soiled linen in public gets my everlasting goat What does Sib want a divorce for anyhow?” Craig laughed. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about it!” “Oh, please—please!” Sybil threw out her hands beseechingly. “Tad. don’t make any more speeches. If you and mother don’t stop nagging me, I’ll go crazy.” She buried her head on Craig’s shoulder. “Anybody'd think to hear you two talk that I was just doting on the ; hing. Oh, Craig, they all make me sick! You’d think my own family would stick by me—with every hen In town gossiping.” She flung from the room angrily. “You make me tired—both of you! ” “Now what did I do?” demanded Craig. And her voice from the foot of the stairs, commanded him petulantly: “Oh, keep still! Come down here before you wake Teddy.” a it a BUT when he reached the library, she as nowhere about. "Sybil has one of her headaches,” apologized Valeric. “She’s gone to bed.” He took his leave shortly, and with scant grace, vowing inwardly that he had been made a fool of long enough. How could he know that Sybil, in her room, tears raining down her cheeks, was praying crazily: “Oh, God, give him sense! Make him know that I love him.” It was months before they met again. In November th case was called. Two days before that Mr. Peterson sent for Sybil, to impart final instructions. (To Be Continued) (All is ready for the opening of the sensational divorce case. Society eagerly awaits developments —and the papers get the story—all in th® next chaper.)

George Turned in his chair and searched the room, until he too saw what Crystal had seen. “I don’t blame you for looking shocked,” he said. “It must be a ✓ jolt for a secretary to find her supposedly impeccable boss lunching with a fair charmer. “As the impeccable bosses son, I’m rather knocked out myself. Dad doesn’t go in for fummadiddles, as a unusal thing. Wonder who the lady is?” “I know her,” Crystal admitted reluctantly, all her pretty mannerisms and coquetry forgotten. “She’s Mile. Eloise Dumont, and she was our French teacher at Bradley.” “I wonder what she’s doing in Stanton,” George frowned. “Dad’s a wolf in business, but he’s at the age when he’d be a woolly lamb where a pretty young woman was concerned. Mother’s old-fashionei' She’ll probably go into a granc dame rage if she hears of this—and her loving friends will take care that she does hear. Dad!—who’s always been heavy on the pillar-of-the-church stuff! Do you know what she’s doing in Stanton?” “Tony said something about her having a private class in French. I think I’ll write to a classmate of mine who now has a job in the registrar’s office in Bradley and find out why Mademoiselle left Bradley. “There’s a chance I might pick up a useful little bit of scandal about her. My friend, Vera Castle, would tell me if there was anything like that behind Mademoiselle’s leaving.” “Good! You’ll be sure to write, won’t you?” George surprised Crystal by urging quite seriously. “Let’s go now, if you’re ready. I don’t think they’ve seen us.” (Copyright, 1928, NEA Service, Inc.) (To Be Continued)

THE IIN DIAaN AT U-LiS IJLAULO

OUT OUR WAY

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

Woodrow Wilson, Democrat, the twenty-seventh president of the United Spates, was the son of a Presbyterian minister. His mother, Janet Woodrow, was the daughter of a Scotsman who was a distinguished Presbyterian minister in Ohio. On Dec. 28, 1856, while his father was pastor in Staunton, Va., the future president was born and christened Thomas Woodrow. LSL!!^il!li!l!f!ljfs cl * l . P * frn ‘** ion °* IIM rublithtr, ol Th goal, o( Kita-Mt*. Copyright, \923-t6- __

—By Williams

Thera is little to tell of Wilson’s childhood, except that he was a frail boy. Much of his teaching came from his father. - i

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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In 1874 young Wilson entered Davidson College, North Carolina, but hjs health broke down before the end of the year and he had to.go home.

SKETCHES BT BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCIIEIt

his father had studied before him. He was a good student, but also showed much interest in writing for the college papers, in debating and in athletics. Before his graduation in 1879 one of his articles on government was published in the International Review. Thereafter he studied law at the University of Virginia. Shatchn .ml SynopMS. Copyright. 1929. Th. Groliar tac'xty. (To Be Continued )ioq j

PAGE 11

By Ahern

—By jMartini

Bv Blosset!

Iv Crane

By Small

By Cos want