Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 89, Indianapolis, Marion County, 23 August 1929 — Page 24

PAGE 24

OUT OUR WAY

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CHAPTER XXXVll—(Continued) RED drew his eyebrows together severely. “Now Molly,” he admonished, “that’s no way to talk. There’s too dam much of that sort of thing in America. What business has any Judge to take a child rfrom its father, and turn it over to somebody else? No more business than the censors had meddling with your play. You thought they had a nerve, didn't you, telling people that your show wasn’t fit for them to see? It was none of their business, the sort of show's folks went to. Everybody minds everybody else’s business in this blooming country. But you’re going to mind your own—see, sweetness? You haven’t any more right to take Rita away from Bob, than you have to rb John D. Rockefeller of his most cherished possession.” “But Bob drinks so!’ she cried. “Does that give you any license to steal from him?" “But the courts have a right to determine whether or not a parent is fit to have the custody of his child. I could prove Bobe unfit.” “You go messing around in that sort of thing,” he threatened angrily, “and I’m through with you, Molly. For heaven’s sake, be consistent. You despise people who sit in judgment on the morals of others. Now, because it could serve your own interests, you’d run to a judge, and tell tales on Bob. You’d ask that Bob be punished for getting drunk, and you be rewarded for telling on him. And you'd put Rita up for the prize. I’m ashamed of you, Molly!” "But if I could get Rita that way,” she moaned. “You don’t know how fnuch I want her, Red.” “You mind your own business,” he counseled. “If Bob was abusing his child, or neglecting her, then it would be another story. Do you know what you’d be doing if you went after Rita through the courts? You’d be putting yourself on a par with that girl you told me about who was going to sue Bob for breach of promise. You thought she was a rotter, didn’t you? For the love of Pete, don’t be a blackmailer!” Molly picked up the tray Red had left on the floor. “Here,” she said, “plug in the percolator. Let’s eat and stop fighting.” “I wasn’t fighting.” he objected. *“I was only telling you things. Women are funny. Asa sex, Molly, you’ve no principle at all." “I know.” she agreed. "We’re ruthless. We’ll do anything to attain our ends. I know you think I’m utterly without character, so I might as well admit that I propose to keep Rita by fair means or foul. I’m a bad woman. Red. And the che-ild means more to me than honor. Do you know what I’d do? I’d frame Bob. if I knew’ how.” Red laughed. “Look out." he cautioned “that fee doesn't frame you. As for you. young woman, you be a square shooter. Give the egg a break.” a a a IT was late when Red said goodnight. Molly slipped her arms about his neck, and drew his ear to her lips. “Do me a saver?” she coaxed. "If you hear anything more about Jack, will you let me know’, Red?” “Why sure.” he promised. “They teent over from the office for a Rory. If they got anything. I’ll get In touch with you.’’ After Red had gone. Molly burled her pride resolutely, and began k letter to Jack. He wouldn't marry her. But that did not mean he didn’t love her. The more she thought about it. the surer she became that it was a terrible misunderstanding. He said he couldn’t be Mister Molly Burnham. Didn’t that simply prove It was all a matter of his idiotic pride? There was a woman in Snodgrass whose husband was a contractor. One year he was laid up with rheumatism. and she took over his work. People liked her. and were glad to do business with her. In six months she made more money than her husband cleared in a year. Her husband got well, and took things over again. Immediately business began to fall off. The wife was an energetic person, and anxious to carry on. But retorted that he was going to wear

the pants in his house, and that settled it . . .Well, Jack was exactly like that stupid old contractor. Men were all alike. Foolish masculine vanity! Molly smiled to herself. Her darling wanted to wear the pants. That was what It really amounted to. Os course he wouldn’t talk 3 ike that. Jack was never crude. But that was it, just the same. Sex pride. “You’re so proud. Sweetheart,” she whispered. “Now’ I shall be humble, to prove how deeply I love you.” Molly had a little pink typewriter, in a little pink box. A tiny, noiseless thing, that matched the colors in her bedroom When she worked at night, she used it, because the smallest noise some times woke Rita. She slipped on a negligee of rose chiffon, and lighted the pink-shaded lamps, smiling as she completed the picture. Molly loved doing things like a girl in a book. Now the room ■was softly pink. Everything harmonized with her mood. She would write Jack a letter that should breathe of her love and devotion. A gay, friendly letter that woujd bring him happiness, and assuage his silly fears. Sweet and womanly, to prove that she was not the kind of a girl who wanted to wear pants! To show that he need never be afraid of being Mister Molly Burnham! She laughed aloud, like a little girl planning delicious mischief. She would win her darling, with all the wiles she knew, burying her foolish pride. For what had pride to do with love? • a a a SHE slipped a sheet of paper in her typewriter, ant# began, swiftly, to type. The words, in her mad haste, fell over one another. “. . , in the old days,” she wrote, "I was full of pride in myself. But now you are all that I care about in the world” .. . She paused a moment, thinking of Rita. But no! Jack counted more than Rita. Bob might take Rita away. Then what would she do? She must have someone then to turn to. Someone to fill the dreadful loneliness. “You are necessary to me,”’ she went on. and still the words came tumbling, flying off the keys like magic ... I need you for my fife . . . “Once, my darling, you held me in your arms as though you could never let me go. You were sweet to me. and tender. You were afraid I was cold. Afraid I was tired. Afraid I worked too hard. Afraid I would stop loving you. Afraid I was worried about something. You were always afraid, darling .. . But now it is I who is afraid. Lonesome. and frightened, and afraid. And you are leaving me.” Then she threw discretion to the winds. “I have heard that you are going to Italy. Would you go away, my darling, without telling me good-by? Would you leave me. wretched and longing? But, my darling, I am selfish. I want you to be happy. If you are happy, nothing else matters. And you will love Italy, my Jack . . .” PBge "after page Molly typed In a sort of frenzv. There was so much to be said. So much about Italy tha* she must tell him. And then she must tell again of her love—her lovely, steadfast love. i 4 lf I knew you had forgotten,” she wrote, “I would try to forget. But forgetfulness could not be the end of your love. Not of yours—nor of mine. That is true. Jack, is it not? Tell me. my darling, it is true.” Exhausted, she dropped her head on her typewriter. It. was beginning to grow light. She put out the lights, and raised her curtains. There was only one star left. The little, reluctant morning star. The world was gray and cold. But soon the sun—the great day-star—would touch the east, and make it glow with fire. She leaned from the window, and looked down the street. There was a gray cat ambling along. Nfit another living thing in sight. Molly was glad she was going to see the dawn. Lots of respectable people probably never had seen it. And it was lovelier even than a sunset. There was a poem Jack particularly like in the book of Oscar Wilde's they used to read together. It was very beautiful, and was

—By Williams

largely about the sunrise. Molly remembered thesg exquisite lines, and said them softly to -herself, “ ‘Then down the long and silent street, The dawn, on silver-sandaled feet, Creeps like a frightened girl.’” a a a SHE leaned over the sill and looked down the qujet street. And it pleased her fancy to see a slight figure, swathed in gray like a pun, stealing swiftly from the arms of night. A frightened girl, with silver sandals on her slim, white feet. “That's what I get for writing love letters,” she laughed. “I feel poetic.” She glanced at herself in the long mirror of her bathroom door. “And I look,” she reflected, “like the wrath of God —which is also what I get for writing love letters.” Molly was tired, but she was also sleepless, and she felt like working. She decided to make coffee, and commune with her tragic lovers, until Rita awoke. It was a long while since she and Rita had breakfasted together. She put the coffee on to boil and curled upon her cubist sofa with “The Lives of Antony and Cleopatra.” She had reached the part where Cleopatra, determined to fascinate Antony, plans her first dinner party. Two thousand years ago—and the girls went at things exactly as they do today! By the time the coffee boiled, Cleopatra, to impress Anthony, was dropping her pearl earrings in a goblet of wine. And Antony, manlike, was begging her not to be foolish. Molly squeeed an orange, and brought her coffee to the drawing room. It was nearly 8 then, and Mary, apologetic for oversleeping, was in the kitchen. Rita would be awake any minute. The phone was ringing. “I don’t want to speak to any one but Mr. Flynn, Mary,” she instructed. “Yes, Miss Burnham.” In a moment Mary stood at the drawing room door. It was Mr. Flynn, Miss Burnham He said I was not to call you, but to tell you that Mr. Wells sailed on the Leviathan at midnight with Mrs. Bulwer-Eaton. I think those were the names. Would that be right, Miss Burnham?” Molly smiled palely. “Quite right, thank you, Mary. And Mary—will you take the letter on the table in the hall, please, and bring it here to me, with some matches?” (To Be Continued.) TEXAS QUIZ RENEWED Bn United Prc** WASHINGTON, Aug. 22.—A meeting of the senate patronage investigating the Texas situation, vestigating committee will be called Monday to hear evidence concerning the Texas situation, Chairman Gurth W. Brookhart announced today. Brookhart would not say what witnesses he intended to call but said he had accumulated a mass of evidence to be presented.

TARZAN OF THE A

The apes were more than content with Tarzan as their new king. Food was more plentiful. He settled aH their disputes wisely. Next he moved the tribe inland to a place undefiled by the foot of human being. But he spent more and more time away from the tribe.

. THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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SALESMAN SAM

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PES

He tired of the kingship and longed for the little cabin and sun-kissed sea. As he had grown older, he found his interests were different from those of the tribe. He now preferred the peace and solitude of the cabin tp liis leadership duties among the band of wild ap<s, ■•— ~

—By Martin

He had still one enemy. Before he renounced his kingship of the apes, Tarzan wished to subdue the ugly Terkoz without recourse to knife or arrows. Terkoz one day offended the tribal laws by beating an old female and defying Tarzan’s command to stop. So came they to that well-remembered fight 1

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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Never had the ape-man fought so terrible a battle since that day when Bolgani, the king gorilla, had so horribly mangled him. But he won, though he did not kill his enemy. This time he spared, after forcing Terkoz to cry: “Ka-goda,” meaning, “I surrender!” And all the tribe heard—and marveled.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tarptn let him up. Before darkness settled he called the old males about him. “Tarzan,” he said, “is going back # to*the land of his own people. You must choose another ruler. Tarzan will not return.” Thus he started toward his goal, the finding of other white men like himself.

.AUG. 23, 1329

—By Ahern

—By Blosser;

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Taylot