Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 37, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 June 1929 — Page 8

PAGE 8

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THIS HAS HAPPENED VAN CARROLL, secretary. <* srltii her employer, JOHN CURTIS MORGAN, criminal lawyer, who .s deeply In love with his wlJe IRIS. Nan decides to resign but lingers when she learns Morgan Is to detend a supposed friend, BERT CRAWFORD. Alter Crawford's acquittal, he leaves town and Ir.s follows closely. She writes Morgan she will never return but cleverly omits reference to Crawford, whom Morgan trusts impliclty. Nan saves Morgan from despair by forcing him more deeply into his work. She acts as long-ats'ance housekeeper for rum for six months, winning the love of little CURTIS, his son. eno bringing comloro to a man v ho ironically thinks only of another. . . Nan returns from her bar exams, and Morgan proposes to her. He divorces Ins, and Nan and. he are married. They are prevented from going on their honeymoon by the arrival of DAVID BLACKHULL. accused of *he murder of his father. Nan insists that Morgan atav and take the case For three months Nan's and Morgan s farcical marriage continues, but Nan's heart is breaking. Three months to the day af.'r the marriage Nan tells herse.f she cannot go on line this. Fate was waiting for her ultimatum, ready to accept the challenge. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY ,

CHAPTER XXXII (Continued) What had happened to Kathleen? Was it her new position in the office or did her eager joyousness arise from the fact that, with Nan out of the way, she herself became indispensable to John Curtis Morgan, for whom her eyes always shone frankly with the bright light of hero-wor-ship 0 Honest Nan could not blink the fact that it was a wrench to tear herself away from the office each day, leaving the dearly beloved place in the charge of Kathleen O'Hara. Nor could she blink the fact that Kathleen was glad to see her go. although the two of them got along together very amicably—chummily, it would have been. If Nan had permitted it. Did Kathleen enjoy the feeling of added responsibility that Nan's early deser“lf I don’t watch out. I’ll degenerate into a jealous little cat!!” Nan scolded herself roundly. ‘‘l should have one consolation anyway—if his slavish passion for Irish keeps him from falling in love with me, it will just as surely keep him from falling in love with any one else. . . . Let’s see: Curtis to the dentist; some new shelf paper for the kitchen cupboard; try to match that broken Sevres cup ” The evening brought her the greatest joy and the deepest pain. For every evening managed somehow to renew the hope she thought was so utterly dead. There was a world of good talk—mostly about the fine points of criminal law in general and their own cases in Darticular; talk during which Nan felt all the old intimacy and congenial companionship. But every evening hope was crushed again. It was on Wednesday evening, Dec, 12, exactly three months after her wedding day, that Nan said to herself: “I can’t go on like this. I’ll go crazy or run away . . But how could I leave them? They need me so. But I can’t go on like this ” It was as if fate had been waiting for her ultimatum and wanted to show her how promptly such a challenge could be accepted.

CHATPER XXXIII WHEN, that Wednesday evening, the third monthly anniversary of her marriage to John Curtis Morgan, the little Curtiss loudly clamored for a game of anagrams, Nan had no presentiment that a crisis in that still incomplete marriage was rapidly hurtlmg down upon her. Curtis’ very modern school teacher had introduced the game of anagrams into her classroom as a novel but effective aid in the teaching of spelling and definitions. And Curtis had become so enamored of the game that he insisted upon a session of anagrams with his father and stepmother every evening after dinner. They had been engrossed for ten minutes this evening with the little wooden letters when Curtis triumphantly formed the word “h-o-p.” adding it to the three other words he had captured. "Only trouble is, it's too easy to take,” * the little boy grumbled. "There! I knew I'd lose it! Why did you have to get ‘E’ so quick, Nan?” His stepmother grinned at him as

Crystal, so painfully new to newspaper work, was fearful of missing her appointment—if it could be called such—with Colin Grant. His ungracious, almost angry words still rang in her ears: “I usually grab a sandwich and a cup cf coffee" after the home edition's in. At Charlie's Coffee Pot.” Crystal waited in the city room until she heard Harry Blaine bawl over a phone: “Sorry! Too late! The home edition's just gone down.” Gone down where? Crystal wondered, but she had had her tip. Had she missed Grant? She had been waiting since 3:30 and had not seen him. but her brief experience in the office had taught her that newspaper men frequently phoned in their stories, leaving the actual writing to •‘rewrite” men. Her hands shook with haste and cold nervousness as she adjusted the perkv little brown and orange hat which Faith had given her. She raced down the narrow, dark stairwav, her heart leaping ahead of her feet to the little hole-in-the-wall lunch room across the street. Her fiirst glance around the table crowded room told her he was not there ahead of her. Then she studied the hunched backs of the men seated on high stools before the long counter. Once her heart lunged sickeningly. for she thought she saw him, but a moment later the man whirled on his stod and revealed a life-scarred face nothing at all like Colin Grant's dark young furious one. So furious he was—with life and with himself, Harry had explained. Crystal smiled tenderly at the memory of that face, as she took her place at one of the little wall tables for two. What an amazing thing it was to be in love! Why, she told her-

she took his three letters and made the word into “hope.” “And here’s a ‘C’ which I can’t do anything with,” his father said with pretended discouragement, as he laid the letter in the pool, along with an “R” and a “K” already there. “And here’s an ‘L’ that’s no good to me,” Curtis gloomed, as he flung the letter to the center of the bridge table. “But I can make it ‘hopes,’” Nan triumphed, annexing the “s’* from the pool and discarding another “e” she had drown from the pile ofiacedown letters. “Whew!” Curtis leaned excitedly toward Nan and studied the pool and her word, “Hopes.” “Lookee! If Father gets an L he can take ‘Hopes’ away from you. Nan, and leave you ‘hopeless!’ Hi! That’s a joke, Father! Get it? It’s a pun, ’cause a pun is a play on words. We had it in spelling yesterday—” “Did you also learn that the pun is the lowest form of wit?” his father gibed. “Well, what do you know about that?” he pretended vast amazement and triumph. “I have got the ‘L’—” “Poor Nan! Father takes her ‘hopes’ away from her,” Curtis sympathized. “Don't you mind, Nan. Father’s got some little old threeletter words over there you can steal. Look! I betcha you can take his ‘love’ with a ‘G’ or an ‘R’—Gee!” he marveled aloud. “I can take his •love’ with that R’ that's been in the pool all along. Poor Nan! Father takes her ‘hopes’ and I take his ‘love’ before she can—”

IT was then that Nan in her heart cried out despairingly: “I can’t go on like this! I’ll go crazy or runaway. . . . But I can’t go on like this! Even a silly little word game stabs me in the heart —” She played on mechanically, her small face pale and set, her wide brown eyes blind to so many chances that at last Curtis demanded resentfully: “What’s the matter, Nan? You aren't trying any more! Are you mad. Nan! You won’t let me be a bad sport and sulk when I lose —” “Sorry, darling!” Nan apologized. “I wasn’t sulking about the game—honest! I was thinking of something . else. You’ve won again, haven't you, Curtis? , . . Fine! Suppose you and your father play alone for a while. I’ve got some work to do—” And before Curtis could utter half the protests that were tumbling off his clamorous tongue Nan had run into the library and shut the door. Fifteen minutes later father and son appeared in. the doorway, hand in hand, the tall man smiling down fondly upon the flushed, excited child.

"He’s licked me again, Nan,” Morgan ’ told her. “I’m getting even with the champion anagram player by sending him off to bed. It’s after 8. He’s ten minutes to the good, and gloating indecently over having won three games straight.” “I’m going to take the dictionary to bed with me,” Nan threatened blithely. Would either of them notice that she had been crying? Good night, Curtis. Your father’ll go up with you tonight. I’m busy, darling.” "Going over the Blackhull case, Nan?” Morgan asked cheerfully. "Good! There are one or two points I’d like to smooth out with you, if you feel like it. . . Come along, champ! . . . Oh, all right, but might I remind you that you’ve already kissed Nan twice?” When he had kone, hilariously, ehummily—her work , that!—Nan stared for long minutes at the mass of papers on the library desk, but a thick lens of tears makes a poor reading medium. No, she couldn’t go on like this any longer. Why should she? Every day was torture, every night a hell of loneliness and crushed hopes. Curtis had put it with terrifying clarity: "Poor Nan! Father takes her ‘hopes’ and I take his ‘love’ before she can—” For three months he had daily given her a tiny modicum of hope, < only to kill it. by a casual goodnight

I self, if she were an artist she could : draw every line of his face, of his ' tall. thin, slouching figure. And she had only seen him twice! If she never saw him again, every line of that portrait her fingers could not draw was etched on her heart. A waiter thrust a greasy card before her. and pride made her order. He must not think she had | waited for him, expected him to ; pay her check, perhaps! When the I thick sandwich and the muddy looking tea came, however, she found she could not eat a bite. But she drank the tea. very slow- | ly, for it was atrocious—strong and stale, as if it had been brewed from ancient hay. And still he did not come. Other reporters drifted in. Harned among them, but after the first 1 swift glance at each newcomer, she \ dropped her eyes to her plate to ! discourage any camaraderie. If Colin Grant did not come, she wanted to speak to no one: would never want another man sitting opposite to her. Then anger came to the rescue of her sadly humbled pride. He had sought her out, hadn’t he? He had sent her on an errand of mercy, hadn't lie? He needn’t worry! She wasn't running after him! But it did seem as if he might have the decency to thank her for what she had done, would want to hear the end of poor Callie Barrett's story! And just then, when her hazel eyes were glinting with the anger she deliberately had whipped up against him. Coiln Grant appeared in the doorway. Her heart leaped with joy. Tears of relief put out the flames of anger. {To Be Continued)

[ befAnn^Austiti Author oF JfytyiaekpifeonL

kiss on her cheek or forehead or hand. For three months she had striven with every ingenuity known to a woman in love to win his love. . . and she had failed. She had made his home a haven of comfort and peace and beauty. She had mothered his boy until the boy's own mother would scarcely have known him, so splendidly healthy and happy and normal he had become. "She had brought father and son into such close companionship and congenialty that an editorial writer for a woman’s magazine would have garbled with joy as he described the two. She had worked on his cases with a brilliance and zeal which not even the old Nan of premarriage days had dreamed possible. And for reward she had—exactly nothing. u n n OH, of ceurse—Nan reminded herself bitterly—he appreciated her work as housekeeper, mother and law partner. He was not chary of praise. And of course there was some nourishment for her starving heart in seeing him slowly lose the tragic shadows from his deep-set black eyes, in seeing his lean body become less lean. Oh, yes, she had given him peace of a sort, contentment of a sort, and he was obviously grateful. But what had he given her? Well, a chance to serve him! Once that would have been enough for Nan, but now it was not enough. She had earned more—everything. And since his love for Iris could not die, he had no coin with which to pay his debt to her. To his credit be it said—Nan reminded herself with a bitter smile—he had not tried to pay in counterfeit.

“Slaving away, dear?” Morgan interrupted from the doorway. “See any loooholes in the case? Want to be in court in the morning when the case opens?” Nan bowed her head lower over the papers, so that he might not see the traces of her tears. “I—believe not, John.” She could not explain that the jovial, teasing attitude of her husband’s legal colleagues toward the great criminal lawyer’s partner-wife was unbearable to her. If she had been his wife in fact, as well as in name, she would have gloated over their pleasantries. . . . “The case looks watertight to me. I see you have the last of the depositions from Riverside, Cal. Bassett doesn’t suspect a thing, does he?” “No, and neither does Nina Blackhull, so far as I know,” Morgan answered, his deep voice throbbing with triumph. “If nothing slips up, Nan, we’ll get a dismissal of the indictment against yoyng David Blackhull and new indictments against Nina Blackhull and Bassett before another week has passed into history. A fine Christmas present for young David huh? . . . Let’s see; about this time last year I was maneuvering an acquittal as a Christmas present for Bert Crawford. Time seems to drag endlessly, and then all of a sudden you wake up to realize that it hasn’t been dragging at all, but flying—”

His voice trailed to a constrained pause. Nan knew that he was thinking not only of the anniversary of the opening of the Crawford case, but also of another anniversary that was hurtling inevitably toward him—the anniversary of his adored first wife’s desertion. Was there any wonder that he had no thought at all for the significance of the date, sp far as he and she were concerned? He had nt indicated by word or glance that!' the twelfth of the month meant anything. . . . Perhaps it didn’t—to him, since the marriage was not really a marriage, and there was room in his heart for celebration of only one wedding anniversary. ‘‘l’ve often wondered about Crawford,” Morgan went on, his voice almost normal again. “You know, it’s rather hurt me that he has never written. After all, I did get him out of a nasty situation. ... By the way, I got into conversation the other day with anew vice-pres-ident of the First National Bank. He brought up Crawford’s name; said he’d heard about my defending him on an embezzlement charge, and thought I might be interested to know that Crawford had been living in Paris. He saw him there about six months ago, playing about with a woman so beautiful that she was the talk of the town. Up to his old tricks, I suppose,” he added, with a wry grin.

NAN'S heart stood still. It was ghastly to hear him gossip with such appalling innocence of the man who had tricked him into de- ! fending a crook and who had stolen his wife. A hundred times Nan had wondered if Morgan had had no suspicion at all of the shameful alliance of the two who had wronged him so deeply. She was I answered now. He had not the : faintest suspicion that the woman ; “so beautiful that she was the talk of the town” was Iris Morgan. Morgan took his seat on the op- ; posite side of the fiat-topped desk, and reached for the thick sheaf of papers which Nan had been pretending to study. His hand touched hers, inadvertently, then closed : over it. “Why, Nan dear, ycur hand's like ice!” lie exclaimed, instantly solicj itous. “Aren’t you well, child? Or did something I say upset you? , . . Good heavens. Nan! It—it's not Crawford's name that's made you look like that, is it? ... I used to think—why, I even teased veu about him! Look at me. Nan!” he commanded sternly. Involuntarily the sleek, brown head jerked up. a pair of great brown eyes, blazing wtih anger, ; raked his suddenly perturbed and anxious face. • “Bert Crawford!” Nan flung the words at him. “You think I ever I -ared the snap of my finger for that —that—” She bit back the word “crook" just in time. Why disI illusion him now. when she had protected him all these months?— “—that lady-killer?'’ she amended. ; but the force of her vehement protest was spoiled. ‘“Oh. John! How stupid, how blind you are! Bert Crawford! I could laugh! I could laugh myself sick!” she went on 1 hysterically, and proved it by burst-

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

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ing into a wild fit of laughter whose final high note broke on a sob. “Nan, darling! What is the matter? I don't understand —” “Let me go!” She -jerked her hand from his. and sprang up from the desk so precipitately that she overturned her chair. Before he could circle the desk she. was through the door. The slam of its closing was like a slap in his face, but what did she care now? It was all over, she sobbed, as she fled up the stairs to her room. Hadn’t she known all evening that she couldn't go on any longer? * Let him think that his insult had driven her away. Let him think anything he chose. It didn’t matter. . . . All that mattered—she told her-

, self, as she jerked open the door ! of her clothes closet—was that she ! had reached the end of her rope. She was through, through! She had tried her best and she had failed. What if they did still need her? .She was sick unto death of thinking of them all the time, of crucifying her love every day on the cross of selfsacrifice. She wa§ cramming dresses into a suitcase when a low knock interrupted her. Her heart leaped. Oh. couldn’t she ever learn not to hope? Let him knock! . . . Slowly, jerkily, she crept toward the door to open to her husband. . . . (To Be Continued.)

—By Williams

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Questions and Answers

You can get an answer to any answerac'.t Question cf fact or information bv writing to Frederick M. Kerbv Question Editor The Inoiananolis Times' Wastiir.eton Bureau 1322 New York avenue Washington. D C.. inclosing 2 cents m stamps for reply. Medical and legal advice can not oe given nor can extended research t-s made. Ail other Questions will receive a personal rep*v Unsigned reouests cap not be answered All letters are confidential You are cordlailv invited to make use of this service What iz meant by being moon struck? The expression moon struck is sometimes applied to persons who are mentally deranged or lunatic. Many persons have thought that

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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, the rays of the moon had a disastrous effect upon the mind, and the word lunatic is derived from lunar, which means moon. There is no truth in this superstition, and science has proven absolutely that the moon has no effect on the health or mentality of persons. The expression is also applied to young lovers, who seem to have completely lost their reason and do strangelydetached things. The reference, of course, is to the fact that they have affected by a kind of a lunacy. Was Sir Walter Raleigh the first

.JUNE 24, 1929

—By Martin

person to smoke tobacco in a pipe? The practice of pipe smoking wa introduced among the Elizabeth#! courtiers by Sir Walter Raleigh. T-e Indians were smoking tobacco in pipes when this continent wasdiscovered. Has the republic of AndornP°*t* age stamps of its own? It uses Spanish postal surcharged in red or black vth the name Andorra. Were there any exertions of American soldiers by fir# squada in the American Ex-ditionary forces during the World*ar? No. v

By Ahern

By Blosser

By Crane

By Small

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