Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 101, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 September 1929 — Page 24

PAGE 24

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©1929 by C £u RuJtI'VDGIWU OWJVES NEA.SERVICE INC I AUTHOR OF'R'CH GIBL—POOR CIRLI ETC.

THIS HAS HAPPENED HELEN BRENT feels unhappy when ♦.he girls at the Spann boarding school tease her about being Miss Simplicity just to please her handsome guardian. LEONARD BRENT, who supplies her with ample funds and smart frocks which are brought from Paris for her by a woman friend whom Helen never has met. But she dares not question his regions even when her roommate. SHALLIMAR MORRIS, accuses her of being in love with Brent and calls her a fool for giving up dancing and parties for him. Helen begs her guardian to tell her about her parentage, but he refuses until after she graduated Realizing her infatuation for him. he exacts her promise to “do anything I ask you to” after leaving school. One day Brent sees a hungry begger fall in an alley and curiosity tempts him to listen to his mutterlngs. He hears something about “Evangeline—money—disinherited" and as he bends over the old man spies a gold locket with a diamond. He takes the locket and tries to question the derelict. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER IV HOLDING the half-conscious man at arm’s length, Brent shook him violently. The weak lids lifted over the watery eyes, the muttering ceased. “Look here, old fellow, come out of it,” Brent said briskly. The other stared at him dazed and uncomprehending. Brent’s impatience grew. “Sit up,” he said sharply. “What’s the matter with you? Drunk?” “Evangeline.” the poor derelict whispered, struggling to raise himself. Then louder: “She doesn’t need the money now. It’s been a long time. The joke's on him. Let him rot in his riches. It's all the same to her. She's been dead for years, years, I tell you. years! What does she care about his money? got streets of gold, streets of it!” Brent bent closer, no longer trying to rouse the speaker to more rational utterance. Plainly, his mind was wandering, but his words were interesting. “Yes,” Brent said encouragingly. “Evangeline—who was she?” Somehow that name on his lips did what he had been unable to do by conscious effort. It brought the old man to at least a partial realization of his situation. Brent watched while he made a supreme effort to sit erect, “Don’t call the police.” he begged, the shadow of experienced degradation cutting through the fog in his brain and filling him with dread. But the moment of lucidity did not last. He fell instantly to raving of "Evangeline" again, forgetful of Brent's presence, though, strangely, he seemed to sense him there as an immaterial audience. Brent guessed that he lived more In the past than in the present and that he probably vocalized his story to all who would listen, or. when there was no one. to his own ears. One of those pitiful, wandering tragedies, making of the borderland bet ween life and death a wide space. Still, guessing this, understanding It, there was nothing in Brent's heart of pity: only disgust and contempt. But he could not tear himself away. He was held by the scent of quarry A rich old man. who didn’t know that his hard-heartedness was hurting only himself—that the daughter he had disinherited was dead. This much Brent gathered before the shrunken, prematurely aged wreck at his feet quit his babbling and sat quiet, his head drooping on a slumping shoulder. n a m QUICKLY Brent stepDed to the street, where the light was better, and took the locket out of his pocket. He opened it and disclosed the likeness of a beautiful young woman dressed in the style of twenty years ago. On the opposite side of the locket was engraved a name, “Evangeline Cunningham.” Brent thrust it back into his pocket and glanced furtively up and down the street. A coffee house caught his eye and solved his problem He’d been at a loss to know where to take the old man and pump the rest of the story out of him. Certainly he couldn't take him to his own quarters. He wheeled back and again leaned over the beggar. This time he put aside his distate for physical contact with the other's person and lifted him to his feet. Again he shook him, roughly, thoroughly. Thelizap figure stiffened, the wob--4

bly head held firmer and the wanderer came back from the borderland. He blinked at Brent and began to whimper like a child. “I’m starving,” he said several times. “Come along," Brent urged, supporting him with a shoulder. “There's a place to eat just across the street. Pull yourself together and don’t let go again. Do you hear?” he added.raising his voice as the figure against him began to relax. “Hang on to yourself,” he went on sharply. “There’s food— FOOD —and hot coffee!” It was slow progress they made getting across the street but Brent managed it. At the last he was practically carrying his burden but once at the door of the coffee house he was able to get assistance. “Drunk,” he said laconically to the waiter who came to help him. “An old begger I'm used to seeing on the street. Rather hate the thought of having an officer run him in. “Get him over to that table back there in the comer where he’ll be out of the way, and bring some strong coffee immediately.” The waiter was impressed with Brent’s appearance and manner. He hastened to obey. “I’l just stop a bit until the rain ceases,” Brent explained casually, taking a seat at the table with the man he had brought in. “Bring me a pot of coffee, without cream.” a tt tt THE waiter grinned. Obviously his guests was unused to coffee houses of thi sorder. A pot of coffee indeed! A thick, white mug at the best. “No individual pots, sir,” he apologized. using an address that was unfamiliar in the place. But this man, in his better days had seen better places. “Never mind.” Brent instructed him. “Attend to this poor wretch at once. You have some hot soup, I suppose?” “Yes, sir.” “Then fetch it after the coffee.” The strong black beverage, held to the blue lips by Brent himself, revived his companion to a condition in which he was able to partake of the thick hot soup. Brent sat opposite and watched silently while he dipped the large cheap spoon up and down, up and down, with the speed demanded by wolfish hunger. The busy waiter had gone about his duties. Brent had indicated that he did not want attention directed to his table and the man had accepted his wishes without comment. He was used to turning his back on queer affairs. And this affair was queer, “unless the toss in the evenin’s clothes really didn’t know a drunken guy from a bum just one jump ahead of the undertaker.” Well, it. was none of his business. Like enough he'd get a good fat tip out of it. Soft-hearted gink, probably. bit of a fool. While he went on about his business Brent waited until the soup was finished and then began to ply the old man with questions. But first he lighted a cigaret for him. astutely surmising that it was the first, other than butts, that he’d smoked in years. But even so, in spite of the coffee, the soup and the tobacco, it was not easy to get the story. Not that the old fellow was at all reluctant to reveal it, but it came hard for him to put his statements in sequence. A name here, a date there, Brent had to keep continually on the alert; aware that the man's mind was affected. But the burden of the tale — the vein the teller couldn’t get away from—was his satisfaction, his gloating eriovment. of the empty revenge the l'lch old father was living. But for this Brent might have learned nothing. tt a tt WHOSE father? Evangeline's?” Brent pressed. “Cunningham. What Cunningham?” “Whv . . . alone in his big house ... old Cyril . . Cyril K. .. . all these years and he doesn’t know. It serves him right. It serves him right Thinks he's going to leave his money away from my wife . . .cheat me . . the poor fool . . . thinks I married Evangeline for her inheritance .. . inheritance she’ll never get—money I wouldn’t touch .... All these yean; alone, alone in that empty old souse *, hoping * •

—By Williams

hoping . . . the kid’s gone . . . pretty thing . . . mother’s eyes hopes Evangeline will come back and beg . . . angels don’t have to beg . . . the little girl was a pretty kid ...” He lifted a torn, soiled sleeve to his dripping eyes and sniffled. Then he began again. Brent, listening patiently, lost not a word. They sat there at the table for an hour. The bowl of small crackers was empty, the ash tray full of expensive ashes. The story was told. At least Brent concluded that he would learn no more of it from Charles Nellin. That was the vagrant’s name. Charles Owens Nellin. He mustn’t forget, Charles Owens Nellin. All that came now was repetition. But he had learned a great deal. He knew that Charles Nellin had been Evangeline Cunningham’s music teacher. Knew her father had not seen her since her elopement with Nellin. Knew that she had died a few years after their marriage. Knew that they had a daughter. She’d been named for her mother—Evangeline. Where she was or what had become of her he could not learn. Nellin had slipped away from all his questions about her without answering. Brent could not tell whether by intention or the vagary of his mind. He seemed scarcely to be aware of the fact that he was being led lllong— but he did make it plain that the girl’s grandfather was not likely to find her. Oh, yes, he admitted, Cunningham knew of her existence. Evangeline had written to him of the child’s birth. His reply, Nellin didn’t say in so many words what it was, but Brent understood that it had been caustic. He seemed, suddenly, to suspect that his listener might misjudge his cleverness. “Listen,” he blurted. “I’ll tell you what I’ve done . • . how I've cheated him!” (To Be Contiued) DEAffrENDS'CAREER OF FAMOUS PIONEER Jesse Morris Sharp Guided Roosevelt 25 Years Ago. Bu United Press CRANE. Mo., Sept. 6.—Jesse Morris Sharp, who twenty-five years ago escorted Theodore Roosevelt and other notables in hunting expeditions on his vast ranch h: Wyoming, is dead here, bringing to a close a colorful career of a pioneer rancher, road builder, soldier and hunter. Born in Pennsylvania, Sharp moved to Ohio, where he enlisted in an infantry during the Civil war. In 1882 he came to southwest Missouri to assist in building the old Gulf railroad from Springfield to Memphis. In 1886 he moved to Lusk, Wyo., a favorite hunting haunt of Roosevelt. He had lived in this section of the Ozarks since 1906.

TARZAN OF THE APES

Within the cabin, lights were burning. Clayton had found an unopened tin of oil and lamps, still usable. Tarzan peered within. He saw his cabin divided into two rooms, partitioned by boughs and sailcloth. The men were reading and talking. He sought the other window. There was the girL

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

f GVt -THERE'SWR PETES 6N<-1-OOCVI'. | THAT GOOEY LQCM*I' I WOOLONY IFT TVAT -YW ure 60A0 y fTfnW VIASHOOT 6AW& W LWE CUES. THV£> WAY ffl Wt 60W 1 DOWU /

VXXM WHE9S: D\D THEM 'WJO A WREMS, 60 ??-THEY \*>Ab _ .

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

l/*XT STOP, V SHAmsire ? f Fo ° PCTES SAICE -'' j w - m ““■? . * Bovs m If / I \oa_D yoo cooic \am am \ L? It ,wSL ~ 7n !^ r „ S ' J /00>J 1 VUUOS DOVUM U£P£ ) SUM AAA’ y AT

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

f HERE’S NW CHECK, OTTO. SEND fU MR. TUBBS, CAN 1 POT V ONLY l -< / UP A FLOCK O' GROCERIES To ( YOU DOvJN FOR-ER- SIO / TEN? SHOO. I POOR OLD LADY 6ROODY AN’ T* \TovJARD THE NEW j ‘ATS A GOOD l KIDS, VHLLYA? KEEP \T OPTiLL JmgM HOSPITAL?/ CAUSE. POT ME

SALESMAN SAM

fHEReS "TW£ 'G-LCO WinU pU ViUgcSTTP* Oo (S [ RENTED, GUZZ'. / 00(1. SUPPLIES OUTA TH’ BoV- AN’ L _ ' . START SWAPPING THINGS WITH the. Eskimos for furs- '' _!

MOM’N POP

E'ES.THE GUNNS HAVp\ 1 NEVER RETURNED TOM'S LAST CALI\J 'WAY ON A CAMPING gS / NOT THAT ANYTHING HAS COME BETWEEN Y" FOR MOPE THAN A jl / US/SIMPLY BECAUSE OF THAT COPPER MOM CALLED M LEAL POP HAD WITH GEORGE.OF COURSE ■ T BEFORE Jffl 1 THEBE IS A LITTLE BITTER FEELING. i' HEV LEFT siKk V NATURALLY.WHEN YOUR BEST FRIENDS/ ■

How beautiful her features—how delicate her snowy skin! She was writing at Tarzan's own table. Upon a pile of grasses lay the negress asleep. For an hour Tarzan feasted his eyes upon her as she wrote. How he longed to speak to her. At length she arose, leaving her manuscript. . . _

—By Martin

(ONE THING STICKS ME.GUZZ- 3UST USE. Y. <36EAT'. WAIT i DON'T KNOW ESKIMO LINGO TH’ SIGN \ HERE,AND AN’ LIKELY THEY DON’T SAVVY LANGUAGE, I VIHEM 1 COME ENGLISH-HOW'M l GONNA SAM- J BACK WE’LL

She went to the bed, loosened ner soft mass of golden hair. Below her waist it tumbled. Tarzan was spellbound! Then she extinguished the lamp and all within was darkness. Still Tarzan watched. Creeping close faited, listening. At last she was >. Cautiously ha Intruded his within tha cabin, ■

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

r r I you Halt of -THE peußtcLis MoMEV FROM THE SET-TLEMEAI-f /ff AFTER OE-TtfAi<S rF. L SPEAjrT cf uMcle’s es-tate iaJ some, * *Jeui EM6LAHD ! ~~ -THERE UIERE PEBTS )( CLO-fHES * Yod CEfTTAfAiLV f OF -THiEdTV YEARS M SE>JP Mg. -T^g IlHicH MOKIEY OF YOUR OUUi Hose TRee W,LL '-—^“THe r UIAS B oVS SdQ6ESTfeP TWAY A S MAy bie VoU Were Wa yi ficH I k OTiC -ffeAAj CE, AT f /i A Tfe ~T(MS * c y. 1 T.' . 1

ftWW' I B|SplLT OU° 0 U° see- rru_ vmoolo did voo p St opp- ) v<Xi 6£ GOOD -IP I 14MCN4 FCEOkLtS || fJT. JDO IT? 7UEYVU ! rrv -.,„ <( . fj A/ A. *7Ag vopqp: p 10 UV£t T 0 ov>l V SEE- OS \HUCM > SEE F(2EC\a£S Jj AM TAS vMtttE w o s>j 7WS.V UMEhj I S£T OFP | III—-X,^ST^qfpJ^.^

(f BIG HEARTED, f SURE.WASH.’I ( /" THAT FOOLi THAT IDIOT 1 . MY I ’ATS ME, BARNe/. IN YOU GO, f THROWING H\S MONEY AWAY LIKE MAD*, j ( GNE TH‘ KIDS A / , KIDS! THE l BABY, I TELL YOU WE HAVE To.WORK/ FREE TREAT M'J YOURS.

aL VM NOT GOINC, TO LET ~—~s "v SO AS THINK THAT SIMPLY BECAUSE \ .. ✓ LONG AS THEY'RE NME CUT ON THE BIG END ) /f OUT OF TOWN THIS IS \ EALWITH GEORGE THAT YD BE ) /|=s!isg|§? A GRAND T'MG ) ALL-MINDED AS NOT TO / $ TO DO IT /-

Carefully he felt upon the desk. At last he grasped the manuscript Jane had been writing. Cautiously he withdrew it. Tarzan folded the precious sheets into a small parcel, tucking them into his arrow quiwer. Then he melted away into the jungle as softly and aa

HOW S THIS FER SIGN 1 n Don't | ASK US We'll SWAP Jc WHERE A STRAW / / <GoT THE PAINT WALRUS <* <l/j AND / brush. x O NOEODY kwows / A*

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tarzan awoke early. His first thought was of that writing, hidden in his quiwer. How he hoped he could read what the beautiful girl had written. Tarzan suffered a bitter disappointment, baffled by the strange writing. Long he pored over it Finally he recognized th* letteri, heart leaped fog joji

SEPT. 6, 1929

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By; Small

—By Taylor