Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 215, Indianapolis, Marion County, 26 January 1929 — Page 5

JAN. 26,3929.

OQheStorif of a .Modern Moon Goddess RC HIDM

CHAPTER XLIII Continued. BUT her voice was so muffled, ne could not hear. And he lifted he” '\in with his finger tips. "At. ; ’ou as happy. Sweetheart, as you dreamed of being? You’re not disappointed? Everything's beautiful?” ‘'Beautiful!” she whispered. ‘‘And this Monty-boy didn’t make you sorry about anything?” ‘‘Why, Holly, how could he, dear?” She snuggled closer against his chest. ‘‘l bought some linens for mother today. Those colored damasks. She’ll be so pleased.” “Always thinking of someone else!” he murmured tenderly. He kissed the back of her neck, where her straight hair curled in surprising little twists, like drils on sweet peas. “Oh, my goodness, Holly! Now I'm all caught on those old frogs again.” “I’m sorry, dear.” He separated frogs and hair gently. The enchanted moment had passed. “Let’s have a cocktail!” Ashtoreth shook out her skirts. “Tell them good strong ones, Holly.” Ashtoreth had learned to drink cocktails in Paris. Somehow they helped her to forget all about Hollis’ two front teeth on their little swivels . . . She didn’t even mind when he kept saying “Orchid . . . Orchid ...” as if it was his prayer. And telling her, over and over again how wonderful she was. Oh, it was very nice, of course, to have a man so absolutely insane about you. But . . . well, a few cocktails did help. There was no getting around that. Because, naturally, a girl had to be pretty sweet to a man who was always giving her things. There were times when she had a ghastly feeling of paying for pearls and amethysis with her kisses and her arms. There were, in fact, times when she thought of that letter her father had written her. She wondered if Hollis ever thought of it himself . . . That part about girls who trusted exclusively to their youthful charms being no better than courtesans .. . Only wiser and less honest. CHAPTER LXIV Ashtoreth had an she could do, coaxing Monty to have dinner with them. He had given her his address, and she had Felix drive her over to the Left Bank. Felix, very grand In his bottlegreen livery and his shiny puttees, driving the beautiful car, which was also bottle-green. Perhaps Monty wouldn’t be at home, but she had chosen Monday, hoping for the best. Hardly any shops were open on Monday, so probably there wasn’t anywhere for a radio salesman to call. Anyhow she could leave him a note. She was admitted by a lady of generous proportions and snapping black eyes, who escorted her to Monty’s room, and assured her that he would return shortly. Felix smiled nastily, showing his upper teeth, which loked like a squirrel’s. She was getting uneasy, wher. Monty made a noisy appearance. She could hear him downstairs. “Bon Jour, Madamel Bon Jour!” He hart seen the car, and was up the stairs, three at a time. “Ash! for the love of the saints! Get out of here, you blooming little fool.” “But Monty!” “Yes—l know. Get out! Get out, I tell you!” He had her by the arm, and was shooing her unceremoniously down the hall. “I suppose you think Madame thinks—” “I know dam’ well what Madame thinks. And that little pickle out there—the hired man that ifuns your buggy. What did you suppose they’d thi-ik—they’re French, aren’t they?” “But Monty! For heaven’s sake, stop pushing me! I'll go—you don’t have to throw me down the stairs. Listen, you poor chump, I only want to ask you to dinner.”

THE NEW Saint-Sinner ByJlnneJftistin ***ir*hs*nt*.

Crystal broke into shuddering sob 6 of relief when at last Lon Edwards and his giggling girl, Grace, had given up in disgust and anger their attempt to force “Peter Holliday” to admit them and lend them gasoline for their stranded car. She took care hot to sob aloud, however, until she was sure, by the fainter and fainter sounds of their voices, th .t the young couple were really on their way down the lane to the state highway. When at last she got her nerves somewhat under control Crystal found that the fire was almost out and that the room was becoming bitterly cold. The very thought of going to bed in the shack without a light terrified her, and she lighted a long, thick, new candle—one of five she had found in a drawer of the Jdtchen cupboard. Maybe the light would keep the rats away. . . . She had already discovered that ; the two cots had no sheets, and ionly two of the harsh gray blankets between them. When at last she was in bed. clad i only in a thin, sleeveless silk nightgown, she found that the wool •pricked her tender skin so that she felt as if she were wrapped in a Nessus shirt. Unable, for more than an hour, to fall asleep, although she was physically exhausted, Crystal lay planning her Tuesday’s work—all the details which must be attended to. if her rescuers were to be convinced tha*. she had actually been kidnaped. It was not until she was deep in plans that she realized what a boon to her scheme the visit of Lon Edwards and “Grace" might prove to be. _ Surely they would remember and report the strangeness of their re-

HE steered her into the parlor. and sat her down in a ptomaine green chair. The place was clean and musty, with flowers under glass on the center table. The color scheme was green, like Pullmans and day coaches. “Dinner!” he exclaimed. “In your bridal suite at the Rltz, I suppose? Nice, homey little meal. No thanks, Ash —not on your life.” “But Hollis wants you to come!” she protested. “Well, that’s very nice of him, I’m sure. Nothing mean about Hollis, is there? All ready to prove that the j best man won. I “Being good to the bird that got that gate. You tell hir. for me, Ash. I I’m not hankering to see him maki ing love to any of my old girls.” “Oh, Monty, don’t be horrid. You’re just as vulgar as can be!” “That's what you used to tell me. Well, I haven’t got over it any. If it’s vulgar to hate to see any man pawing you, then I'm vulgar.” “But. Monty, you don’t know how fastidious and reserved Hollis is. Why, he wouldn’t even touch me, in front of a servant or anybody . . . Please come, darling, I’m awfully lonesome for somebody besides Holly.” , “Getting fed up, are you?” Ashtoreth put her fingers across his mouth. “Don’t talk like that,” she commanded. “Just say you’ll come, like a good boy. And well have champagne!” “Nope,” he declared. “I won’t.” a tt u BUT in the end, of course, he did. Ashtoreth wore a dress like a silver armor, and looked as Jeanne d’Arc ought to have looked, but probably didn’t. Slim and sparkling, with a proud high lift in her dark head, and her gray-green eyes flashing like spear points. Hollis was deferential, as though she was a saint—or a nun, at least. He never touched her with his hands all evening. Only with his eyes. They followed her about, caressing her every move and motion. And he called her Orchid. He never called her anything else. "Orchid-this” and “Orchid-that,” in his quiet, thrilling voice that made love every time he opened hismouth. At 10 o’clock Monty went away. Rather abruptly, Ashtoreth thought. Hollis had suggested that they go somewhere, but Monty was almost rude. He had a headache, he said, and a lot of work to do next day. She rather expected a note from him after that. He might have telephoned. Or sent flowers, the way Hollis’ friends did, when they came to dine. n n n IT was Monday again. Hollis was at some stupid museum, looking at relics. The curator was a friend of his. It was sure to be a tiresome, highbrow afternoon. So Ashtoreth set out in the Hispano-Suiza, with Felix, in his bottle-green. To call on Monty again. He was in the garden when she arrived, feeding hens and rabbits. Just like one of the family, she thought. Monty was always like that. “Come for a ride,” she invited. “The mimosa’s blooming, and the bushes are all gold.” “Where’s your husband?” “At the Camevalt. He’s fearfully intelligent, Monty. I like you, because you’re stupid.” • “Thanks. I love you, because you’re beautiful. That must be the reason. It couldn’t be anything else. You’ve no principles at all." “Why, Monty, what do you mean?” “Well, I don’t think it’s very nice —chasing a poor devil around, do you? A respectable woman, all decently married to millions! Running around with a classy foreign car, and a chauffeur done up like a dragon-fly, vamping an honest salesman in his humble home.” “Oh, Monty, don’t be a goose! The country smells something beautiful. Let’s go out to Versailles, and play in Marl* Antoinette’s garden.”

buff, tell excitedly of hearing a girl scream and the clatter of a “heavy instrument” as it fell to the floor, when they read in the papers the story of Crystal Hathaway's “strange disappearance." If her calculations were accurate. Crystal told herself, the papers would be full of the story on Wednesday, after the failure of the “kidnapers” to claim the ransom money which her letter had demanded that Bob place in a garbage pail on the sidewalk in front of his home. If Lon Edwards and “Grace” came forward then with their story, she could he pe to be “rescued” not later than Wednesday afternoon or early even Jig. If she could stand the silence and the horrors of solitude and rats and cold so long. The girl fell asleep in the midst of hc- planning, and dreamed that she was a mediaeval monk, wearing a hair skirt as a penance for his sins. She awakened before dawn. The wood box was empty. She had prodigally used all the logs the night before. Her watch, which she had fortunately not forgotten to wind, told her that it was just 5 o'clock. Her teeth were chattering and her arms were rough with goose-flesh as she flung on the only warm cloth dress her suitcase contained, and jerked on shoes and stockings The night before she had brought in a pail of water from the pump and now she washed her hands and face in a little tin basin. For the first time in years she did not remember to powder and rouge her face She had other things of vital importance to do. and she was hungry and abominably cold. (To Be Con tinned.)

He found his hat, and followed her obediently. “I’ve been reeding "The Empress of Hearts,’ ” he said, “and Marie must have been some baby. I’d sure like to see the place she did her stuff.” “You havtn’t been to Versailles yet?” “No—that’s why I’m going now.” “And my company didn’t have a thing to do with it?” “Not a dam thing.” a HE settled himself comfortably and extracted a cigaret from the silver box at his elbow. “It’s a great life. Ash, isn’t it?” Bhe sighed wearily. “Great, Monty.” “What are you moaning about then?” He surveyed her through a cloud of drifting smoke. What’s the big idea, sighing like that?” She gave a nervous little laugh. “Did I sigh, Monty? Maybe I’m tired.” “Tired of what?” he asked sharply. “Oh I don’t know. Everything. Nothing. xTothing in particular, I mear..” “And everything in general. So that’s it, is it?" Ashtoreth threw herself petulantly in the farthest comer of the deep leather seat “Oh Montj, for heaven’s sake, stop! What’s the matter with you?" "Matter with me?" he repeated gently. “Why, there’s nothing the matter with me, dear. It’s all the matter with you.” “You’re a nice sunshiny little companion!” she mocked. “What are you trying to do—sell me the Idea that life’s all wrong?” He inhaled reflectively, and smoke came flowing from his nose and mouth before he answered her. "Maybe I was," he admitted. “Well, let’s change the subject then.” But the subject, it seemed, was not easy to chang^. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she confessed, after they had driven in silence for a mile or two. "But I certainly do feel blue.” “It’s the love and the laughter of friends you need,” announced Monty. “Probably you’re homesick, Ash.” “No, it’s not that.” She bit the tip of her glove meditatively, and bit so hard that presently the pointed tip of a gleaming finger nail came poking through. “It’s not that, Monty. It’s—don’t laugh at me!” she cautioned, "Never,” he promised. "Well .... it’s sort of a spiritual depression,” she explained. “As if,” he prodded, "you’d sold your soul for a mess of pottage?” Ashtoreth winced. “You’re making fun of me!” she protested. Tears came to her eyes, and she winked so hard to keep them back that she could feel her nose getting red. She powdered it vigorously from a slim gold vanity. “You might sell your autobiography to one of the True Storymagazines,” suggested Monty wickedly. “’I Married Millions and Hunger for Love.’ “The Amazing Life Story of a Girl Who Loved Wisely, But Not Too Well.' Nice titles, Ash. ...” “Please, Monty!” she cried. “You're not being funny a bit. And you know perfectly well that Hollis is simply crazy about me.” “Oh, sure,” he agreed. “The poor sap." Ashtoreth sat up very straight. “You’re being absolutely insulting,” she told him hotly. “I’m sure T don’t know why I should endure your insolence.” "Neither do I,” he conceded. “I got my mad money. Want me to get out and walk?" “Now you’re trying to be .funny again!" Monty snuffed his cigaret in a little silver tray. “There’s no pleasing you, he drawled. "A nice easy chap like me tm get along with. I don’t know that’s the matter with you, Ash?” “Neither do I!” she cried. "Only please—please, Monty—be good to me!” She reached for his hand, and held it on her knee. "I don’t know," she confessed "what’s the matter with me. Only —l’m so miserably discontented. Monty! Oh, I know. I shouldn’t talk like this. It’s wretched of me. I’ve the best husband that ever lived. He’s perfectly wonderful...” tt tt tt SHE put her handkerchief to her mouth. A wisp of lace, that wafted a whisper of sachet. Hollis had bought it in the convent where she had brought her linens to be monogrammed. He had remarked that it was strange, the things nuns work on. Bridal nightgowns. And little clothes for babies that are the fruit of love. “It is odd that they should spend their lives,” he said,, "on exquisite fripperies for women that are beloved of men.” It was a beautiful handkerchief, but not very practical. Ashtoreth wiped her eyes daintily. It wasn’t big enough to blow her nose on. “Now see here,” Monty patted her knee consolingly. “No tears now. We don’t want any crying.” “Who’s going to cry!” she demanded angrily. “Oh, Monty, you make me sick. Here I’m only looking for a little sympathy, and . . .” "Brides shouldn’t look for sympathy,” he warned her. “It's- apt to get them in trouble.” “Bride’s shouldn’t look for sym(To Be Continue!.) Hollis and Ashtoreth decide to go home, and Monty plans to sail at the same time—only, all of a sadden—it’s in the next chapter. MURDER TRIALS SET Five Men to Appear at Marthtsvllfe Feb. 12 in Artie Bryant Case. B w Time* Rnerinl MARTINSVILLE, Ind., Jan. 26Trial of five men charged with the first degree murder of Arlie Bryant during a store holdup will open in Morgan circuit court here Feb. 12. Those accused are George and Howard Wellington. Logan Mains, Jesse Squires and Walter Wilson. Each of the men has made a poverty plea, and the court will appoint attorneys to defend them.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

I OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

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OUT OUR WAY

By Ahern

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SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCHER

PAGE 5

—By Williams

- bv Martin

Bv Bln:spr

Bv (’nine

by binall

By Cowan