Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 124, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 October 1928 — Page 13

Uo±’. 13, 1928.

CHAPTER XLIII (Continued) “That’s all right by me,” she assured him, and pushed them out with rough good nature. “Be good children now—and don't hurry back, Sybil.” When they had gone, she set the room to rights with house-wifely zeal, straightening the rugs and the table cover. Brushing cigaret ashes into the fireplace. Slapping and puffing the pillows on the div^o. “Hello! What’s this?” A little white box beneath an overstuffed cushion. Mabel opened it curiously. “A wedding ring! Well, I’ll be darned! Whose? Sib’s?” She peered within the narrow circle. “R. C. to Q. B.” She held it between her fingers, appraising it unconsciously. One section of her brain counting diamond chips. The other deliberating. CHAPTER XLIV MABEL slipped the ring experimentally on her third finger. At the second joint it stopped abruptly, and she transferred it to her little finger, pressing it firmly over the middle joint. She walked to the lamp, and held her hand under the parchment shade. “Seven hundred,” she murmured to herself. “Seven hundred. It it’s worth a cent. Maybe more. It might have cost a thousand.” She moved her hand slowly to catch the light. “Poor old Sib. I wonder if she’s going to care about him.” She put her finger in her mouth, and slid it back and forth. Her finger was red and swollen. When it was very wet, she pulled the ring off. “She has thin fingers, whoever she is. ’C. B.’ —now I wonder.” Once more Mabel held the ring under her lamp shade. “It’s platinum all right,” she said. “Poor Sib!” She put it back in the box, and slipped it behind the clock over the fireplace. Then she gathered up the cups and glasses, and carried them to the kitchen. Whisking up a lather of pleasant suds, she washed the fragile things and for the first time in her married life forgot to hold the lovely purple goblets to the light to admire their amethystine translucence. Mabel was pondering desperately. Presently the little girl downstairs came up with Teddy. And Mabel, wringing her glass towel vigorously, hung it on the rack, her decision made. tt a a ■

WHEN Sybil came in she was boisterously determined. “See here, Sib. I want to show you something. Look! It’s a ring. A wedding ring. John Lawrence has a wedding ring. His initials are in it.” She thrust it defiantly at Sybil. “I know it, Mab. What’s all the excitement? He’s got a right to buy a wedding ring, hasn’t he?” “Os course he has. That’s just it.” Mabel was blustering. “But, you poor little nut, you don’t want to get mixed up with him. Let him marry the girl he bought the ring for. You’ve got a good man now. and you don’t know when you’re lucky. "I told you ages ago that Roger Caldwell was heaven’s little gift to women—remember? The day we saw Dolly Weston at Schrafft’s. You almost met him that day. I know a homebreaker, Sib, when I see one. Let him marry his old C. B. And Sib—Sib, dear—go home and call up Craig. Don’t go to see this other man tonight. Tell Craig you want to see him. Tell him you’ll marry him, dear. And tell nim tonightbefore there’s any jam with your pretty hero back from the grave. “Oh, John Lawrence may have been very wonderful when you knew him. But ten years can make a rake out of a knight. And every man needs anchorage. John Lawrence hasn’t any. He’s gone the pace, I tell you. And you’ve had trouble enough." He’d only break your heart. He has C. B. now. Let him keep her. Please, darling, clear out of this affair before it smothers you. John Lawrence won’t make anything but trouble for you. Remember the premonition you had? You said something dreadful was going to happen.” Sybil laughed. “My dear, your solicitude amuses me. Anybody’d think I was about 16, the way you talk. Suppose your beloved Jack disappeared some day. And suppose, aft£r you’d mourned him as dead, ten years passed, and Johnny came marching home again? You wouldn’t drop him like a hot potato, would you? Even if you knew he had another lady in the offing. Now be yourself, Mab. You know darn well you wouldn’t.” “But that’s not fair, Sib. You don’t love John she way I love Jack. John’s new personality—the life he’s led—the girl he has—all these things intrigue you. Your interest is stimulated. But if you have a romance now it’s going to be a frowsy affair—and darn anticlimatic, if you’re asking me.” Sybil plunged her hands deep in the pockets of her beaver jacquette. “I’m not,” she said pointedly. a a MABEL stooped to rearrange the magazines on the table, and Sybil saw the tell-tale flush she sought to hide mounting on her cheekbones. Mabel always crimsoned when she was angry. She adjusted the bookends and changed the position of a book or two. When she had recovered her composure, she straightened up. “L'rten, Sib,” she began, "and I don’t care whether you like it or not. I stood by and saw you make a fool of yourself over Richard Eustis. And I kept more or less quiet. You got yourself in a pretty tight jam, and I helped you carry on. We’ve been close enough for me to say what I think I ought. I’ve a right to expect you to listen to me. Now you’re going to take a little straight dope—and get as mad as you pleased—and be darned Os course you’ll do what you want anyhow. But, for my own satisfao* tion, I'm going to get a couple burning truths off my chest.” Sybil dug a compact from an inside pocket, and powdered her nose leisurely. Then she produced a raspberry lipstick.

“Shoot, Mab,” she concurred amiably. "Only don’t let’s sound like a couple of ham tragediennes.” Mabel bit her lip angrily. “Youre absolutely insulting,” she remarked evenly. “Will you please put down that powder and rouge until I get through talking?” Sybil slipped them in her bag and sank comfortably into the great chair near the fireplace. “I beg your pardon, dear,” she murmured. “Honestly I didn’t mean to be rude.” She swung one slim knee the other and reached a dainty foot to the blaze. “Oh, gosh, Mab, I’ve got a drop stitch! Look at that. And a brand new pair of stockings, too. Gee that makes me mad—the very fir.-t time I’ve worn them. Five dollarj. How much did you pay for those you have on, Mab? They’re lovely and sheer.” Mabel stood with her back to the fife and contemplated Sybil as an outraged woman scorning frivolit l ,. ‘Do you know what you nee’d?” she asked politely. “You need some' hulking brute to wring your neck. There are women like that. It’s the only thing that stops them. And I guess you’re one of them. Sib. I’d just be wasting time talking to you. I was going to try to stir up some appreciation of Craig Newhall in your shallow little heart. But Craig’s too good for you, Sybil. I’m through trying to wish you on him. I like him too well.” Mabel paused irresolutely. “You’re an awful dam fool, Sybil,” she concluded, and turned with a great air of finality to face the fire. “An awful darn fool. And that’s all I’ve got to say.” The room grew very, very quiet. The fire died down, and smouldered softly. And the only sound came from the little clock on the mantle. “Tick tock,” it said. “Tick tock ” and went on eating time noisily, as clocks do when everything else is still. n tt 'T'HEN, suddenly, Sybil sobbed. A muffled little sob, smothered in the palm of her hand. “Oh, Mabel!” she cried, arid reached up to clutch the hem of her sweater. “I’m nbt hard-boiled, Mab. Honestly I’m not ... I can’t bear to have you talk to me like that, Mab. Besides, you’re altogether unreasonable. Don’t be so intolerant. Say what you’ve got to say, and I’ll listen to you. But for heaven’s sake be reasonaable.

“A girl doesn’t get a sweetheart back from the grave every day you know. You certainly wouldn’t expect me to turn my back on a good substantial ghost like John Lawrence. A nice, handsome ghost, Mab, with gorgeous blue eyes and lovely blonde hair ... All the men I know have bald spots, Mab.” Sybil was wheedling prettily. "And John, my dear, was the best of all possible lovers. It would be a rare woman, Mrs. Moore, who’d run away from a ghost like him.” “Oh, I don’t know that there are any bells on your little friend.” Mabel plumped down on the divan. “When you loved John Lawrence, he was a regular Galahad, wasn’t he? Well now, my dear, he could show Don Juan his stuff. He’s a secondrate shjek—that’s what he is!” "And how,” inquired Sybil icily, “did you get your inside information?” “I heard one of the girls at the real estate office talking about him, if you mast know.” Mabel defended herself with a blustering little stir of righteDusness. “She said his life was simply one woman after another Now, Sib, hadn’t you rather, keep your illusions about young Galahad? I should think you’d had enough of philanderers. If Richard Eustis didn’t teach you a lesson, you’re hopeless!” “But, Mab,” cried Sybil, “it was such a lovely romance I had with John!” “Wes—well, hadn’t you rather the memory of it stayed fresh and sweet? What do you want to dig it up for? It will only tarnish and grow cheap.”

“Oh Mademoiselle! Let me present Professor Arkwright. Mother invited him especially to meet you. Professor Arkwright teaches Latin in our high school here. You two pedagogues ought to ha,ve lots in common Professor, this is Mile. Dumont, who taught me French at Bradley. Now, Pat, you can run along and help Peg receive the Hamiltons.” and Tony smiled her sweetest, most daughterly smile at her scowling, handsome father as she took his chair beside Mile. Dumont for the gray-haired, fussylooking little Latin teacher. “I’m sure Mademoiselle won’t miss you. She and Professor Arkwright are soon going to be deep in a discussion which you couldn’t understand a word of, you darling old-ignoramus!” “Then, as her father strode hastily away, after giving his dutiful daughter a look that should have withered her, “Look how he hurried back to Peg! He’s really the most devoted old thing. I suppose every girl thinks her parents are just about perfect, but I know mine are! Will you excuse me, please?” “Certainement!” Mile. Dumont spoke with bitter emphasis. Tony, after curtsying and smiling guilelessly, fluttered away happily to help her father and mother receive the four other couples who were arriving almost simultaneously, with middle-aged punctuality. There were the Harrisons, from the next block; Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Reeves, Mr. and Mrs. Jeff Hemingway, the lovely Mrs. Hemingway, who had once been an actress; and Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln Pruitt. It had been Crystal who had begged that the Pruitts be included since, if Mile. Dumont was to be routed, her “boss” might as well see the deed done and profit thereby, however unwillingly.

Mabel thumped her knee with an emphatic fist. “I tell you, Sybil, youte making a big mistake. The man has a girl—maybe he’s married already. What do you know about him?” “Not much.” Sybil stretched indolently. “But I'm old enough, Mab, to take care of myself.” “That’s just it!” Mabel exploded violently. “And you say you’re not hard boiled! You were an innocent little kid when John Lawrence fell in love with you, weren’t you? A nice, trusting little kid. And you probably had a lot of splendid ideas and high falutin’ dreams. And he thought you were just the sweetest, grandest, purest thing on earth Did you ever stop to think that you’ve changed? “The nice, little kid you used to be is wise now. Sib—wise as the oldest woman, and bitter wffh life. . . . Where are the ideals you used to have? And the dreams? .. . They’re crasser stuff now. aren’t they, Sib? You would disappoint John Lawrence exactly as he would disappoint you. I tell you, Sib, you can’t begin at 28 where you. left off at 18. If you have an affair with this man now, it’s going to be a shoddy thing. And you’ve got to take him away from some other woman to have it.” “I suppose,” mused Sybil, her eyes on the smoldering blaze, “that it would be a poor caricature of the lovely thing that bloomed when we were very, very young.” “God be praised!” muttered Mabel. “The woman’s got sense. Then you’re going to lay off, Sib? You’ll drop your stunning ghost, and be a good, girl?” n SYBIL got to her feet, laughing. "Here's Teddy,” she said. “We'd better be running along, Mab. It's past his bedtime. . . . Hello, precious! Whose beautiful big boy are you?” She caught him to her, and kissed his rosy cheeks. “Angel child,” she told him solemnly, “you’re the most beautiful thing that ever lived.” . . . And she kissed his small red nose. “May I give him a cookie, Sybil?” asked Mabel. “Tookie! Tookie!” clamored Teddy rapturously. He took it in both his hands, and smiling beatifically above the crumbs, beamed on Mabel. “Tanny,” he said. “Tanny too.” “He wants some candy,” explained Sybil. “He's just like his mother —aren’t you, precious? He's got to eat life with both hands, Mab. ... No, darling—no candy. Say goodby to Aunty Mab, dear.” Mabel took him in her arms. , “Good-by, Teddy-boy. Come see your old aunty soon—and we’ll have some great big cookies. And candy, Teddy. Nice candy! Now give me a big bear hug, like a good boy—and the very best kiss you’ve got, sweetheart.” The baby hugged her gleefully, and when she put him down, he clung to her knees, and raised his sticky lips for another kiss. “You’ll phone tomorrow, Sib?” “If you want me to.” Sybil was drawing on her gloves. “Don’t touch, Teddy! Naughty. Naughty.” She stood with her hand on the door. “You’ve been brutally frank, Mab. But I suppose you meant well.” “IJayen’t Ia right to be frank, Sib?” “Oh. I suppose so.” “But I’ve made you angry?” “Well, I can’t say you’ve made me particulary happy. It's certainly been illuminating—this tirade of yours.” “My dear, it was for your own good.” “That’s what people always say when they tell me hateful things. Oh, I’m not sore, Mab, or anything like that. You’ve simply opened my eyes to what you really think of me, and since you’ve been so frank, I'll be as honest with you. To Be Continued)

Within half an hour there were three tables of bridge, to which the players had settled down with the deadly earnestness that marks the middle-aged confirmed addicts of the game. Crystal and Tony, freed temporarily from their duties as “little rays of sunshine,” looked in upon the drawing room from the doorway whispering gleefeully. From Tony; “Such luck, darling! I thought I’d burst with joy when Mile, said she couldn’t play bridge and Professor Arkwright, already head over heels, the poor thing, ecstatically acknowledged that he couldn’t either, so they two could just sit and talk! “And it wias killing the way you kept him trotting away from her to trot to your mother on some service or other! I’ll bet Peg thinks the world’s coming to an end, Pat’s so awfully attentive! “Os course he could slay you and I advise you not to eat anything tonight, if Mile, has a chance to slip out of the kitchen first. The fair Eloise has murder in her eyes. . . . “Oh, Pat's dummy, and he’s making a bee line to Mademoiselle! He looks as if he may pick up poor little Professor Arkwright and drop him out of the window. . . . Oh! Mr. Pruitt’s dummy at his table, too. Bet he’ll join Mlle.’s court. ... Os course! I wonder how she does it, at her age!” Poor Crystal could not help reflecting that she could not "do it” at her age. “Look how adroitly she handles Pat and Mr. Pruitt together,” Tony whispered. Well, I guess it’s up to little Tony to, say something else awfully sweet and considerate to dear Mam’selle. Come to my rescue if she suddenly decides to throttle me, Crys.” . (To Be Continued)

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OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

Warren Gamaliel Harding, Republican and the twenty-eighth president of the United States, was born in the small town of Corsica, Ohio. He studied at Ohio Central College and in 1891 was married to Miss Florence KUng. Soon after leaving school he became connected with The Star, a newspaper at Marion, 0., and for many years was its owner and editor. 10 13 By' NEA, Through Sp,cil P,.million of Ih. Publithor, ot Th Booh ot Know!dg. Copyright. 1923-36.

By Ahern

Harding successively was state senator, lieutenant - governor and United States senator. He served from 1915 to 1921* in the Senate.

OUT OUR WAY

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Harding called a conference of the leading nations of the world, at Washington, to oonsider reducing the navies. 10-13

SKETCHES BX SUSSEX. SXNOt’SIS UX BKAUCIIER

While on a trip to visit Alaska and the West, President Harding died, Aug. 2,1923. He was succeeded by Vice President Calvin Coolidge. At the time of Harding's death, Coolidge was visiting at his father's home in Vermont. He took the oath of office in a little room of the plain rural home, lighted with a kerosene lamp. (To Be Continued) a Sketches surf gynpasCepyrtgM.l3<.The Crolier Soeiety. IQ m 13

PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Martin

By Blosser

By Crane

By Small

By Cowari