Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 219, Indianapolis, Marion County, 31 January 1929 — Page 11

JAN, 31, U 29.

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CHAPTER XLVll—'Continued) "You said you would not lie to me, Ashtoreth.” “I—l’m not lying.” “Tell me, Ashtc reth, I am waiting to hear.” "But, Holly ” "Tell me, Ashtoreth.” "I—l I’m trying to. ... Oh. Holly, there are so many kinds of love. How is a woman to know?” 0 0 HE hushed her explanations with lips—kissing her gently. When she continued to cry, he carried her to the bed, and wrung a cold towel for her eyes. “It is all right,” he told her gently. “Quite all right, my dear. You musn’t feel badly. It isn’t your fault. A woman can not love a man solely because he desires it. It is not enough that you should love me, because I learned to worship you.” She brought his hand to her lips, and kissed it gratefully. “There isn’t any one else,” she whispered. “No? Not Monty?” “Monty?” she cried. “Oh, he simply despises me. Holly! He sent the most insulting letter to the boat .... I’ll tell you about it some time .... Listen, dear Wait for me in your room. I’ll bathe my eyes. . . . and be in soon.” He shook his head. “No, Ashtoreth.” “But, Holly, you don’t mean . . .” She wound her arms about his neck. He drew her clinging arms away, and kissed her forehead ... In a moment he had gone . . . And the door between their rooms was closed. CHAPTER XLVIII ABHTORETH sat on the couch. She w r as very quiet, and she did not cry. Her heart, she thought, was broken. She even told herself that something within her had died. After a few minutes, she took Monty’s letter from behind Hollis’ picture on her dressing table, and read it again, slowly. It was dated 4 a. m. and began: “Dear Ash—- “ This is to say good-by. I never felt so sorry for ane one in my life as I did for your husband, after the swell little scene you treated us to. The way he kept saying, ‘Orchid,’ ‘Orchid—it would have wrung tears from a stone, or almost anything. “He calls you that, because it means something sweet to him. The orchid is a beautiful flower. And a parasite is a thing that grafts itself on to something that is capable of taking care of it. “A parasite is a plant of an animal living on some other living organism. at whose expense it gets its food, shelter and the like. It attaches itself firmly, and it won’t let go. “Some parasites suck all the life out of the thing to which they cling so that eventually they kill it. “Orchids graft on trees, and stumps, and old roots. They are exquisite things, but they don’t care w T hat they live off. ‘’They are so mean, they won’t even give the bees any honey. But they are very beautiful. “There are girls just like orchids. They think that beauty is excuse enough for being. Maybe it is. But a lot of people despise human parasites, even the beautiful ones. “Your husband thinks you are like an orchid. Well, you are. But he doesn’t know 7 how. “You turned me down, because you’re a sort of a tony little parasite, and you were looking for something better to get attached to. Well, you found it. You got better than you deserve, but you haven’t sense enough to know it.” The letter ended abruptly: “Your true friend, who’s got nerve enough to tell you the truth. Monty.” She dried her eyes, and wondered what the end would be. 000 AT midnight Ashtoreth went to bed. having temporarily abandoned her hopes of an immediate reconciliation. “I'll be very sweet and penitent in the morning.” she declared. “And Holly’ll feel better, after a good

THE NEW % Saint-Sinner ByjJnneJilistin esas^A.sincLA)c.

Crystal Hathaway, after reading the psychiatrist’s merciless expose of the mental workings of victims of the inferiority complex, would have given anything in the world to snatch back and bum that mad “ransom letter” she had concocted and sent to her cousin, Bob Hathaway. She had hardly given thought to the possibility—no, certainty—that some poor, innocent devil would be arrested and charged with the kidnaping! What could she do? Oh, God, who loved even base creatures like herself, W’hat could she do? Regardless of the cold wind which poured through the cracks, Crystal flung herself down upon the floor, sobbing woldly, beating upon the splintery boards with her clenched fists until her knuckles bled. There was no way out, but—death. And twice on Monday she had tried to commit suicide and nad found that she lacked the courage. When the first fury of her selfhatred had spent itself, Crystal tried to thinl* clearly. What would happen if she simply unlocked the dooor. walked out with her suitcase, and returned to Stanton? She tried to follow’ herself on every step of that hypothetical journey and its ending. If Bob had not yet given the ransom letter to the police, but was going to wait until night and place the $5,000 in the garbage pail in front of his house, ao her incredible letter had demanded, no one outside the Tarver and Hathaway families would know what ahe had done. No! She was forgetting Cherry! Cheery who disliked and despised her, eaw through all her silly little tricks and artifices, just as her cousin Bob did. She would rather

night’s sleep. Everything will be all right I know.” She realized that she had hurt her husbands pride cruelly. And that she had also come toppling from the throne he had made for her. “I’ve lost my halo,” she grieved, “and my ‘adorable untouchedness.’ And on top of it all, practically admitted that I never really loved him! Oh dear. Oh, dear.” She rang for Mrs. Saunders, and asked for a sleeping potion from the doctor. Then she took a very hot bath, and composed herself for sleep. If only she could stop thinking of Monty! Did he really despise her as he said? “There’s a lot of truth in what he wrote ” she reflected drowsily. “But truth is such a hateful thing!” She thought if she had told Hollis a small lie, protesting love, everything would have been much nicer. She wouldn’t, for instance, be alone at the moment, with a dreadful pain in her head and her eyes smarting so fearfully. Hollis wouldn’t be roaming the deck all by himself, catching his death of cold. Or drinking himself crazy in the bar. After all, perhaps she did love, love him. Not glamorously, like the movies and novels. Probably there wasn’t very much of that sort of love in real life anyhow. She remembered vaguely something she had read—something to effect that in her first passion a woman loves her lover but in all others, all she loves is love. Well, there wasn’t anything wrong about that. . . Only now, of course, she didn’t even love love. That she supposed, was because of those wretched front teeth, on their silly little swivels. It was absurd of course. But women were like that. “Sometimes,” she murmured sleepily, “I get the silliest notions.” She pounded her pillow with her fists. If only she could stop thinking! . . “Oh God, please let me go to sleep! I haven’t slept a wink for three nights.” She wished she could dismiss thoughts of Monty. That thing

MEMBERS OF CLERGY SEE ‘PASSION PLAY' Dr. Edward Haines Kistler and the Rev. Father Francis Mellon Give Their Opinions in Print. BY WALTER D. HICKMAN SINCE my review of “The Passion Play” appeared in this department I have often been asked in person and in letters what the clergy think of the way it is being given at the Murrfc. To find out these opinions I asked Dr. Edward Haines Kistler, pastor of the Fairview Presbyterian church, and the Rev. Father Francis Mellon, director of the Catholic Community Center to see “The Passion Play” on different nights at the Murat. And that was done. Neither one knows the other’s opinion. I have not changed a word of their written opinion.

Dr. Kistler in giving the Protestant viewpoint, writes as follows: You ask me for a Protestant’s reaction to the Freiburg "Passion Play.” Primarily, there is no Protestant or Catholic reaction; for both view it in the world’s elemental fact. Visual education 1s glorified as this generation’s great contribution to the effectively potent imparting of information. Os course, we think of the silver screen when we say that. But the great psychologists of the Church Catholic, Greek and Roman, long since knew the value of the method, as even their dramatized forms of worship themselves testify. When to this they added, Jh days when men could not read nor write, the Mystery Play they knew It would impress the story as the mere reading could not. Naturally, the individual slant of author and player will not leave the elemental fact as free from error, special pleading, or false Information as dees the story itself. But the telling gains so much by its dramatics that the questionable details may well be overlooked, especially since the story itself remains for him to read who will. And into this reading, viewers of the ’’Passion Play” will henceforth place a very virile, though deluded Judas; several craftily vicious exponents of the worst priestcraft, even excused somewhat by their honestly false Ideas of what would be pleasing to Jehovah; a Pilate who appeals to you by very contrast; a rather too selfconscious Mother; and, unfortunately, the typical. Mediaeval Christ, without con-

die than have Cherry Jonson know the depths to which she had fallen. But what could she do? It was unthinkable to go on with the hideous game she was playing—and unthinkable to crawl back to Stanton and confess her depravity. After all, she sobbed, she had been thinking of Pablo Mendoza more than of herself. It was to save him from Bob’s wrath, from arrest as her deceiver or abductor, that she had conceived the mad idea of kidnaping herself. Os course she had not realized what she was doing. But w-ith violent hands Crystal slapped her own lace again and again. “You coward, you!” she sobbed hysterically, glad of the pain she had inflicted upon herself. “Trying to justify yourself—you fool! I’m not fit to live! And I haven’t the courage to die! Oh, God, have me rev on me! Show me what to do!” But not even that passionate prayer was wholly sincere. Crystal knew’ what she ought to do. But It was as impossible for her to go and confess her sins to Bob, Faith, Tony, Cherry, as it was to kill herself. She was still lying on the floor, exhausted w’ith weeping, when she became conscious that the room was filled with smoke and the odor of burning beans. Although she really wanted to die, or thought she did. the instinct of self-preservation made Crystal leap to her feet and drag the pot of hopelessly burned beans from the fireplace. With a fork she dug at the mass frantically, but there w’as less than a cupful that could be eaten—unless she was starving, of course. (To Be Continued.)

, about a woman, in her first passion, lovir.g her lover. . . . Monty had been her first passion. She was only about 18 then. Well, if the poet was right 'Byron, or whoever it was who wrote that) then, having exhausted her first passion for a lover, she couldn’t ever again love anything but love. It wasn’t her fault if she didn’t lova Hollis. . . . Oh, dear, it was all so muddled. . . . And there was poor Holly, chasing himself around the deck. And Monty probably drinking himself to death in Paris. And here she was, all alone, with a9 awful headache, and nobody cared. Two large tears squeezed by her closed eyelids, and rolled slowly down her cheeks. .. . Eventually she fell asleep. 000 QHE awoke at 10, With a splitting headache. She had forgotten to open the port holes, and Mrs. Saunders, obeying orders, had not returned. The cabin was close with the odor of perfumes and powders. She wondered if Hollis was in his room. She must have slept soundly, for she had not heard him coming or going. There w r ere voices in there now. Several voices, and a woman’s among them. High pitched and hysterical. She rose and slipped on the green negligee that she had tossed the night before over the foot of her bed, ringing at the same time for Mrs. She waited several minutes, and when Mrs. Saudners did not came, she became alarmed. She knocked on Hollis’ door, but received no answer, though she could hear voices quite distinctly. She turned the knob, and discovered that the bolt on Hollis’ side was drawn. She wondered if he had purposely locked her out. There was somthing wrong. She shook the door violently. ;1o L.' Continued)

vincing force either in feature or voice, although his acting on the cross grips you. A modern poet demands, "Give us a virile Christ for these Tough daysl You painters, sculptors, show the warrior bold; And you who turn mere words to gleaming gold, Too long your lips have sounded in the praise Os patience and humility.” The trouble rather is that, on canvas and the stage, aye, and in the pulpit, too, long “Patience and Humility” have been robbed of their root-meaning. Strength, sturdiness, a fellowship with the real virtues of the soil, a persistence of a Patient and Humble Christ. But so reverent a passion play is infinitely to be praised; it does help men to visualize an actual Christ and the real center of His Gospel, even in His cross. Personally, "The King of Kings” made for me the stronger appeal; though the screen never can take the place of the convincing living figure and the actual living voice. n m WRITTEN OPINION OF THE REV. MELLON The Rev. Father Mellon, a Catholic welfare director of this city, writes as follows: “The Passion Play” as presented by the Freiburg Players at the Murat theater Monday night held a faithful record of the sufferings of the Saviour of mankind. With much Interest did I follow the narrative from the triumphant entrance Into Jerusalem to the dawn of His glorious resurrection. In rapid succession were shown familiar scenes in the tragedy of the Man of Sorrows. Particularly effective was the march to Calvary with the Saviour’s repeated falls culminating in His bitter agony and death on the cross. In the following scene in taking the body from the cross there was displayed a deft bit of tenderness; very artful were these players in depicting this scene. So reverently were the nails removed, and ever so cautiously was the limp body lowered with the winding sheet, and so tenderly placed in the arms of His desolate mother. Os course, the dramatic quality of this performance lay In that portion concerning Judas—his dealings with the High Priests. Necessarily the .portrayal of a mere human arouses our interest. It was a masterly bit of acting when Judas rushed before Sanhedrim to return the illgotten thirty pieces of silver. The brothers—F. and their principals deserve much credit for this performance. The Christus of A. F. is all that one might desire. It is even and smooth throughout. Ct. as Judas does a brand of acting rarely viewed upon our local stage. The only thing which marred this beau, tlful performance was the lack of time to direct the local tasnt assembled for its engagement. Due this fact the piece dragged in ever so many places, possibly after another performance this fault will be remedied. Another faulty Item was the lighting. It is really to be regretted that these players cannot have the assistance of an artist to handle the lights. A more prodigal use of soft light would heighten the effectiveness of many a scene. The only successful use of white lights was in the Herod Throne scene. The local choral societies do very well in rendering appropriate musical numbers. All in all. this is a very creditable performance of the passional of the Saviour of mankind. m ft m “The Strange Interlude” opens Its engagement at English’s at 5:30 o’clock sharp this afternoon with Pauline Lord in the cast. Other theaters today offer: “Captain Lash” at the Apollo: “King of Kings” at the Fountain Square; Vitaphone movies at the Granada: Charlie Davis at the Indiana: “The Rescue” at the Palace; “The Doctor’s Secret” at the Circle; burlesque at the Mutual; vaudeville at the Lyric, and Buddy Kane at the Colonial. *

THK LN UJIAN AmLLb TJAJLfcS

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

Perhaps The most Whether cast loose by fire fleet was during the disaster of 1900. A fire start-' crews or their mooring ed on the piers along the Jersey side of the Hudson. lines burned through. The German liner Saale and four other passenger ships the burning vessels were moored there. Soon the crowds aboard the ves- crowded with people i sere in the midst of roaring flames. '**/ l drifted out into the river. / \>y *■ if.,: ,’ at ih, of Mitnwiwp. V . , '

OUT OUR WAY

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SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCHEB

PAGE 11

-—By Williams

—Bv Martin

By Blosser

By Crane.

By Small-

By Cowaii