Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 5, Indianapolis, Marion County, 17 May 1929 — Page 7

\{AY 17, 1920

Continued from Page One| I brought Irom court. Brainerd a-prang two surpri.se witnesses on us this afternoon, and didn t call three I thought he was banking on. Rested at hart past two and caught me not ready to open ” Nan followed him into his private office, her small round fac> • .vht with excitement. “I'll bet he didn't <all Barker and that Fleming lonian. I told you he wouldn't! He didn’t dare! Os course you're gong to subpena the Fleming woman ’ ourself and make her talk ” “Am I" Morgan laughed, but his tired eyes shot her a glance of respect. I suppose I'll have to. If you -ay so. Tell Blake to attend to if. when he comes in. won't you? Now to get down to work. ’ he sighed, a long, thin, sensitive hand reaching automatically for the stack of new mail on his desk "Not quite yet,” Nan corrected him briskly. “You just sit there and rest a minute. Shut your eyes and don't dare think of a thing until I get back.” She paused at the door, to make ore that her commands were obeyefl The long figure relaxed in a big swivel chair with a d<*pp sign, as if he were expelling the poison oi fatigue. John Curtis Morgan closed his eyes, but his wide mouth twitched humorously. bob IN less than a minute Nan was back, stepping softly, and carrying a tall glass of milk on an octagonal plate of blue green glass, which also bore a stack of crisp raisin biscuits. Drink every drop and eat every crumb!’ she commanded, with a greater show of assurance than she felt. “I'll bet my next week's salary you didn't eat a bUc of lunch. Tt’s a crime the way you neglect your healtli.” John Curtis Morgan stared at her blankly for a moment then broke Into a series of delighted chuckles. “Funny little Nan!” he gibed at her fondly, but he reached for the glass and drank half of the. milk before etfing it down again, drank eagerly, hungrily, so that Nan almost imaged herself with delight at the success of her latest, scheme for her great, man's comfort. “T've ordered a pint of half-and-half a day for you—half milk and half cream.” she confessed. “You need it. really you do. Mr. Morgan. You w ork so hard and forget to eat until someone shoves food at you— Now. tell me what Brainerd did today. I'll get my notebook and we'll get your notes on his witnesses into -hape. I'm crazy to hear what Brody testified.” A minute later they were hard at it, Morgan's sensitive hands hovering over his scribbled’notes, his deep voice recounting in detail the story of the day in court. He was defending a young girl, formerly the switchboard operator of a fashionable country club, in- j dieted on a charge of blackmailing members of the club. The board of directors, believing in the girl's innocence. had retained Morgan to defend her and. incidentally, to vindicate the management, of the club in the eyes of the public. "It's an ugly mess,” the lawyer frowned. "Cornell looks as if he could kick himself from here to Jericho for ever having brought, the charges, and Brainerd is up against a stone wall himself, trying to get a bunch of witnesses to tesif.v that they would rather be shot than be dragged upon a witness stand. But it, looks pretty black for Grace, Nan. I wish T were sure—” "I'm sure she's innocent.” Nan interrupted vehemently. "T wouldn't havp begged you to take the case if T hadn't been positive. There's something big behind this scandal, Mr. Morgan! That Fleming woman listen! When you get her on the stand ask her—" She was off then, reviewing the evidence from memory her pencil tapping out her points excitedly, her eyes glistening with zeal, her cheeks carnation-bright and the man on the other side of the pulledout leaf of the desk listened with flattering concentration, his own pencil making an occasional note. When she paused for breath. Morgan nodded slowly. “I believe you've right. Os course I wouldn't have taken the case if I hadn't, believed, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she was innocent. I've never yet defended a crook and Id rather starve than begin. The afternoon papers are going to say that Brainerd'* got the case sewed up in a sack but 111 be damned if he has! That Fleming woman, as you say—” •‘You'll bust his case wide open!” Nan boased staunchly. "Remember, the jury half believes in her innocence to begin with, just because John Curtis Morgan is defending ner. Every voter in the county *.nows that you turned down a hundred -thousand-dollar fee to defend those pa ’ment- contractors lust because you knew they were a gang of crooks, and that you told Havemever that all his millions couldn’t buy your services when he was trying to keep his son out of the pen. You know that. John Curtis Morgan?” she challenged him. "What?” he teased her. obviously pleased, but trying to pretend a vast preoccupation with the notes on his desk. "When you've won this case—as vou're going to do!—the papers are going to begin calling you the greatest criminal lawyer in the state, and that a pretty big honor for a man only 36 years old to have won! Why most men your age are still fiddling vround hoping for a junior partnership in an established firm!” ■•Oh, Nan. .Nan!" he admonished her humorously, shaking his head. “You re seeing me too big. much bigger than I am! And if I don't watch out you're going to give me such a swelled head that 111 be laughed out of court. But. seriously. Nan." and his voice changed, became simple, direct and sincere, while his eyes held hers unwaveringly, “if I have gone a little farther than I had any right to. it's l>een because I've had the breaks, and—the best secretary in the country-. I’m not such an egotistical ass that I can't see how much you've helped—”

ABOVE the pounding of blood in - her ears Nan Carroll heard a quick, imperious tattoo upon the door. That particular knock had a peculiar magic of its own. for instantly the two people within the private office were transformed. ; Happiness, which had glowed in Nan s eyes like twin candles on an altar, was snuffed out, leaving her round, childish face pale and taut. In that instant she became the model secretary, or. rather, the model secretary as that part of the world unfamiliar with the comraderie of the office pictures her. She became “Miss Carroll ” a little prim, very impersonal, subservient, remote. Her back stiffened and j automatically she poised her pencil above her notebook in the respectful attitude of a secretary awaiting dictation. And in that instant John Curtis Morgan, attorney-at-law, disappeared. It was the eager voice of a lover-husband who called out joyously, welcomingly: 'Come in!” It was an ardent boy. in spite of 36 years and a silver-fox pelt, who : sprang to his feet, forgetting Nan Carroll, forgetting Grace Cox. forgetting his fatigue, thinking only of the woman who had knocked imj periouslv upon his door. Come in, darling! Oh, hello. ; Sonny-Boy! Out shopping with mother? It’s great to see you both —” Nan's enormous brown eyes, appar itlv as unseeing and blank as circles of brown velvet, took in every detail of the family scene that was being enacted as if she were not present. She saw Morgan kiss his wife, flinched a little as she noted Iris Morgan's casual, arrogant acceptance of that mark of her husband's adoration, felt a throb of pity for her employer as she saw the 6-vear-old boy refuse petulantly to be kissed. Then she braced herself for Iris Morgan’s greeting. "How do you do, Nan? Gorgeous day. isn't it? I'm simply mad for new clothes. Be prepared to pay 011* every penny Jack has in the bank when this month's bills come in! And. oh, by the way, draw me a check for a hundred, won't you?” . she added in a tone she might have used to a .servant. "I hate to be ; limited to she shops where I have accounts when I’m on a buying | orgy, as I am today. Some of the cunningest shoes at Martin s. Jack, she turned explanatorily to her husband. “And bags at the Petite Paris Shoppe!” Nan, forced to listen as she obediently wrote the rheck which Iris j Morgan demanded, heard her em- j ployer answer eagerly, like a boy flattered at being noticed and anx- 1 ious to please: “That so. sweetheart? I hope you j find just what you want. I wish ; I had time to go with you. but I'd be so busy looking at you that I’d : not be a very good judge of shoes or bags.” “Silly Jack!” Iris Morgan shrugged and moved av ay so that his hand, which was stretching out to close upon hers, was defeated and quivered a little. Nan saw the quiver, and her own hand, busy with the check, tremi bled with anger and sympathy. Not I that John Curtis Morgan was anyry ! or conscious of need for her sympathy. she told herself fiercely. He was conscious now- of nothing in the world but his wife's breathtaking beauty. And. as always, it hurt Nan intolerably to see him humble and eager and abject before that beauty, as if he could never quite believe that, he was its legal possessor. B B ft IRIS MORGAN let her tall, graceful body sink languidly into the | chair which her husband had hastened to draw up to the desk for her. And Nan was not too busy filling in the stub of Morgan’s checkbook to see that Iris disposed of her body as if she were sitting for an artist, the picture to be entitled. “Portrait of Lady of Quality.” Long white throat arched as the head, freed of its close-fitting hat, rested in profile against the high back of the chair; glittering tendrils of red-gold hair curling against the polished walnut; the one eye which the profile pose revealed surveying her husband with lazy inditffrence but not without challenge that he ‘ appreciate the picture she made. Three years had not been long eough to accustom Nan Carroll to the amazing beauty of Iris Morgan’s eyes. Strange eyes, that had a color all their own; the vivid blue-green that poets ascribe to tropical seas. "If only she would be nice to him I Wouldn't hate her so!” Nan told | herself fiercely as she laid the check before Morgan to sign. “Silly Jack!” she quoted in silent fury. “Imagine calling him Jack! She makes him silly, makes him small—and he's big, big! She doesn’t dream—or care!— how big he is! Oh. I wish he wouldn't look at her like that!” And she could have cried out with pain at the spectacle of the man she believed to be great gazing with humble. pleading, love-sick eyes upon the woman who wore his name nonchalantly and insolently as she wore the clothes he paid for. 808 AS Iris Morgan rested picturesquely in the high-backed chair her 6-vear-old son leaned, just as picturesquely, against her knee, as if he were subconsciously obeying his mother’s command to fit into the picture. Nan thought, with fiery contempt, that Iris Morgan would never bother to be seen with her son if he were not. the handsomest of all the ornaments with which she decked her beauty. But since little Curtis Morgan was. in his way, as beautfiul as his mother. she had worn him. from his babyhood until now. as another woman might wear a corsage of orchids, or lead a prize-winning Pekinese upon a leash. The child's eyes were large, liquid-black, fringed with such lashes as a chorus girl would sell her soul for. and curjously mournful, even when he was being his most devilish. Nan had watched him develop from a fragile baby of 3 to fragile little boyhood, and she loved him, in spite of the faults which his mother seemed to delight in en-

Icouraging, loved him because there was so much more of John Curtis Morgan in him than of Iris Morgan. Loved him, too, because Morgan I adored him and because Iris, for all ! her lazy indulgence of his constant irritable demands, did not truly love him. was merely proud of him because he was an ornament to her beauty. The child was urging a demand upon his mother in a low. whining singsong: “I wanna see the dog in the picture show. Moth-er. I wanna police dog just like the movie dog, Mother-er! I wanna—” Iris' blue-green eyes swept him with amused indifference. “Mother’s going shopping, lover. Curt's going to stay with Nana, like a good boy. He loves staying with his Nana Carroll, doesn't he?” And she rumpled the silky black crest of his hair—so like his father’s—and smiled lazily at Nan. Dismay and anger flooded Nan Carroll, as they flooded her heart a hundred other such miserable times in the last three years. “Nana!” As if she were a nursemaid! So she went to take care of him again, while her employer's wife shopped in untrammeled freedom! Was Morgan going to permit the outrage, when he knew as well as did the secretary that there was enough work to be, done to keep them both busy until 9 or 10 o'clock, if the lawyer was to go to court the next morning properly prepared to defend his client But—why ask? Os course he was! He had never in his life denied his wife anything she wanted, whether it was a mink coat or the services of his secretary. “We're pretty busy.” Morgan deprecated. "That Grace Cox case, you know, darling. The prosecution rested today, but of course,” he hastened to reassure Iris, whose eyes were flashing green-blue fire at him. “Curt, will be very good. Won't you Sonny-boy?” "Don't want to stay with Nana,” the little boy protested, his great black eyes mournful, his beautiful mouth sulky. “Be sweet, love, and mot 1:r will give you a great big piece of chocolate cake with your ice ream tor desert tonight.” Iris promised in her lazy, sweet voice, as she accepted her husband’s check without thanks. “She's ruining his stomach wirh her ‘great big pieces of chc. mate cake' and all the candy Ae w uits,” Nan thought disgustedly. “And she doesn't care! It's less trouble to her to indulge him than to discipline him. And I believe she actually likes for him to be thin and frail, because he's prettier than redcheeked. robust children. Oh. I hate her!" Aloud she said, in a flat, even voice which she scorned to make coaxing: “Come along. Curt. I’ll let you write on your own special typewriter. We’ll both be busy. Nan’s got an awful lot Os work to do, and so has your father.” “You're such a good little thing, Nan.” Iris thanked her carelessly, in a tone Nan had frequently heard her use toward Curtis' nurse. Ban A S Nan left the private office. -**■ with Curtis’ hot. dry little hand in hers, she told herself despairingly. contemptuously: “She doesn't even know you hate her. you little fool! And she dot I 't hate you at

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all. She rather likes you, in your | place, and your place. Nan Carroll, j is, in her estimation, that of an effi- | cient upper-class servant. And as ! long as she's in the office, that’s the way he thinks of you, too, because ! she makes him. \ “She blights him, blights me. ! takes all of our real worth and sigj nificance away from us. so there I won't be anything of importance in : the place but her beauty. And he j doesn't know what a fool she makes of him. doesn’t know anything when she’s around except that he’s mad about her and that she's the most | beautiful woman in the world. But j what do I care?” She blinked furi- | ously at the tears in her brown eyes. | She was establishing a whinning. ! dictatorial child at a table on which 1 she had placed an old typewriter rej served for the purpose when Iris Morgan came out of the private j office, adjusting her smart black hat ! at an enchanting angle, so that red- | gold curls were pressed against the j cream and rose of her cheek. ! “I’ll call for my two boys at six, Nan." she announced, with superb j indifference to the fact that Nan was supposed to be free at five. | "Be good, sweetheart, and mother will bring you something nice.” “Want stuffed dates with lotsa nuts,” Curtis specified threateningly. Irish laughed from the doorway. “Greedy little pig. It’s a wonder you don’t get disgustingly fat. But I suppose no child of mine could be fat,” she added complacently, glancing down the long, slim lines of her body—the kind of figure for which modistes design “confections” and “creations” not mere dresses. “And oh. Nan dear, please get me a couple of matinee tickets for Saturday. ‘The Constant Lover’ with the original New York cast—so the advertisements say. though they're j sure .to be second-rate hams, worse luck!—is at the Woodleigh this week. Don’t let my bad child bother you, or Jack will blame me if he loses this scandalous Grace Cox case, i Why he can't be a corporation lawI yer and be respectable is more than I can see! Just vanity, I think! He adores ranting before a jury and saving murderers from the gallows, But I mustn't get off onto my pet grievance or the shops will be closed before I get a thing bought. Goodby, lover.” She blew a kiss to the child and was gone. After fiv% minutes of bored pecking at his typewriter keyes, Curtis was at Nan's elbow, jogging it impatiently, so that she struck a wrong key—a tragedy to Nan Carroll, who prided herself on pages of finished work which had never been insulted by e rasp of an eraser. “Want paste and scissors and colored crayons.” the little boy demanded petulantly. While she was getting them for him, he climbed with impish quickness into her chair and began to strike letters helter-skelter upon her beloved typewriter, spoiling the halfsheet of beautifully typed notes. For the next half hour she wrestled desperately with work, a small boy's irritable demands, the telephone, which rang three times, and the swiftly rising tide of her anger. “I’m going to tell him a thing or two if he fires me for it!” she stormed in her hot heart. “Letting nis silly wife impose on me and turn me into a nursemaid! I won’t put up with it another day!” But when the buzzer sounded to

fyAnneAustiii Author of Jk^fackP^eonL

summon her into his private office, her face cleared, became eager again. He had never needed her that she had not responded eagerly—- “ Say. Nan, I wondered if it had occurred to you that Martha Fleming herself wrote those blackmailing letters?” All her anger and resentment were forgotten for the moment. He was himself again—John Curtis Morgan, the greatest criminal lawyer in the state, and she was herself again—his efficient and valued secretary. “Occurred to me?” Nan laughed joyously. “I’ve known it all along and was sure you’d feel it, to. Why, look—” And they were hard at it again, brown bobbed head close to silver-and-black. arguing, interrupting, contradicting each other in the blessed good-fellowship of work which was dearer than life to Nan Carroll. 808 SHE was so elated over the progress she and the lawyer had hade in fifteen minutes on the hitherto baffling case that not even the havoc which Curtis had wrought in the outer office could completely destroy her happiness. He had cut paper soldiers out of one of the carbon copies of the brief which it had taken her two hours to type and which would, have to be done over: he had smeared paste over half the surface of her desk: had spilled ink on the thick taupe rug which was her especial pride, and had finger-printed a great stack of John Curtis Morgan s swankest envelopes. Long before 6 o’clock her patience and her temper were almost exhausted. At half past five, when she was in the office occupied by young Blake and Evans, the clerk, the telephone rang. Before she could reach her desk to answer it Curtis had the receiver off the hook and was shrilling into it: “Hello, hello! This is Mr. Morgan’s office!” If he had not been John Curtis Morgan’s adored son Nan might have slapped him; as it was, her tired brown eyes blazed at him as she snatched the instrument out of his hands. “That you. Nan?” a man’s compassionate voice l came soothingly over the wire, “You don’t have to tell me you’re busy. I recognized the young hopeful’s voice. But you're going to have dinner with me, remember.” “Oh. Willis. I can’t!” Nan wailed. “I’ve got enough work to keep me busy till 10 o’clock at least, and I simply can’t dawdle over dinner.” “You can and will," Willis Todd assured her. “Then I’ll go to a movie to pass the time till you're through slaving. I'm not going to be cheated out of my date so easily, young woman. I’ve got a lot to say to you, Nan, honey, and you’d better make up your mind to listen.” Amazement and amusement fought with fatigue in Nan’s face as she hung up the receiver. So Willis Todd was suddenly becoming masterful! Funny, but sweet—- “ Nana, I wanna bottle of gingei ale! I want it right now!” Curtis woke her from her reverie, his voice shrill and petulant. “.’Nana!”’ Nan repeated the hated perversion of her name with loathing. ‘"Nursemaid Nana!’ Iris Morgan's servant!” If she listened to Willis Todd, she need never hear that degrading nickname again—(To Be Continued.!

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