Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 102, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 September 1929 — Page 11

SEPT. 7, 1929.

OUT OUR WAY

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@ig2g gy m £y fJujtfvDcu)aJ OVUVLS NEASBMCE INC J AUTHOR OF*RICH GIRL-POOR GIRL 7 ETC.

THIS HAS HAPPENED HELEN BRENT fe<*ls unhappy when the 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 has never met. But she dares not question his reasons 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. flrent refuses to teli her anything about her parentage until after her Graduation and. realizing her infatuation or him. exacts her promise to do anything he asks her to. One day Brent spies a gold and diamond locket on a staving beggar who has fallen in an alley. He bends over to take the locket and hears mumbled words about Evangeline money —disinherited" and decides to feed the old man and try to find out his story. He learns that his name is CHARLES OWENS N ELLIN, and that his wife is dead, but can not find out where the baby EVANGELINE 1 except that the father has hidden her from the -wealthy grandfather. CYRIL K CUNNINGHAM. NOW GO ON WITH THE STOKY CHAPTER V “t’VE fixed it! I’ve fixed it! X I've taken care that he'll never have a chance to ruin the little girl’s life!” The pauper, Nellin. shaken with his dim memories, crashed his fist down upon the table with a burst of energy that seemed to desert him the next instant. He slumped in his chair, the flash of spirit died out of his eyes and he began to mutter disconnectedly. Habit overcoming him probably. Brent reflected. . . wasting his life . . . waiting, like a vulture, tv ere in that old house . . . hungry for another chance to make us suffer . . . but I've fooled him . . . Evangeline died and the little girl . , . he'll never find her.” He stopped and cackled deep in his throrr at the memory of some wav in which he had thwarted his revengeful father-in-law. Brent pressed in with a question. “Little girl?” he said. ‘’Wasn’t this ell a long time ago?” Nellin’s head drooped lower on his chest. He seemed not to have heard Brent’s question. Brent did not repeat it. For the mumbling was reaching a point on which he wanted more information. He leaned farther over the table, listening attentively. "Nobody knows where to find her.” (Brent assumed this referred to the child Evangeline. 1 ‘He'll never have a chance to shake his money bags in her face . . . money bags . . . poor Evangeline, nothing, once, but raw carrots for two days ... swept out a grocery store .. . did you ever steal a raw egg . . . too hungry . . . but I got the carrots . . . too bad about the egg . . . might have worked all day . . .” Brent waited for more about the child. The muttering continued. “. . . pretty kid . . . no Cunningham. not a sign of them. All Nellin . . . then . . . maybe she’s like her mother now. Like her mother . . .” The voice failed, faded away. a a a “aa ROWN. you mean?" Brent VJ prompted softly. "Eighteen next month. And I haven't seen her for years . . . she wouldn’t know me . . . wouldn't knew her father." “Does she know she's Cunningham’s granddaughter?” The bleary eyes lifted, the wobbly head shook a feeble negative. ‘ That's how I’ve fooled him. She’ll never go to him for help She can't ... no one knows . . . "Cunningham knows how old she is. doesn’t he? When she was born?" Brent's questions now were tinged with cunning. A nebulous idea by which he might profit from this story he had stumbled upon was taking more concrete shape in his mind. The cackling, triumphant laughter came again, louder this time "Hes cheated, I tell you. He’ll die but won't know what he's missed ... a pretty kid .. . Evangeline was afraid of him ... I made her afraid . . . 'fraid of me, too . . • never wrote . . .” Brent interjected sharply: “The mother? Yes. she wrote about the child: you said she wrote.” "Not then <at the child's birth. Brent understood' . . . just before she died . . - damn his soul ... it broke her heart . . . she died . . . hi* letter killed her . . he doesn’t know . . . he's still there . . . rot-

ting like his house . . . she starved.” ‘‘Where were you when you got his letter?” ‘‘EL?” The eyes that met Brent's were blank. “Where? . . . Vangie was hungry . . . and the kid . . . she wanted food for it... but I wouldn’t let her write . . .” “But she did write.” Brent insisted. “Yes. yes . . . she said the baby cried too much . . . but I wouldn’t let her tell him anything , . . “Not when your child was born or where?” “Nothing! nothing!” The answer came in the shrill treble of a child, palpitant with impatience. “Ive fooled him! Thought we were going to write again, beg for money, whine for mercy . . “Isn’t there any record he could get hold of; find out some of these things you haven’t told him?’.’ “Record?” Nellin repeated vaguely. “Record? I've fooled him, I tell you!" “All right.” Brent said soothingly. “And now what are you going to do? Aren’t you ever going to tell Cunningham of his daughter’s death? . . rotting in his house . . .” the mood of detachment had returned. Brent realized. He glanced at his watch. He’d have to be going he saw, surprised at the lateness of the hour. ‘'Here," he said, reaching for his wallet, and extracting a small bill, “take the money and find a place to sleep.” He thrust the bill into the grimy fingers, noting as he did so that they were long and slender, an Indication that Nellin had told the truth about his artistic occupation of earlier years. “And be around here about this time tomorrow night. I may be able to do something for you.” a tt tt BRENT got to his reet. picked up his hat and strode over to the cashier’s desk. Before he reached it. however, he paused and beckoned the waiter who had served him. “Look after the old chap,” he said, not forgetting to accompany the request with a reasonable tip. “I’ve asked him to meet me here tomorrow night. In the meantime I shall look around for some way to help him. Sorry spectacle, these old beggars on our streets.” “Yes. sir. I’ll keep an eye on im.” the waiter answered. Brent paid the bill and left. The rain had stopped, but he hurried, and called the first empty cab he saw. At his destination he was admitted into a modernistically furnished apartment by a maid whose air plainly told him that he already was judged guilty. As he handed his things to her he smiled. “A bit late, Cora. Has Miss Segro dined?” he said pleasantly. “Not yet, sir." the maid answered, “but I'm afraid cook has gone out; it's her night off. sir.” Brent went on into the living room and took a seat on the low crimson divan. On the floor at his feet he saw a book that he could easily guess had been tossed there in a temper. Well, he told himself, he wouldn’t have to put up with Carmel’s temperament much longer. Presently she came in. a sinuous, exotic woman. Brent rose to greet her. his distaste for the scene he anticipated mixed with admiration for her. She was so much the type of woman he admired—but she had | outlived her usefulness to him. She was known in Shanghai, in Cairo, |in Oslo, in Buenos Aires, in Bombay. | Men did not forget her. She was i hallmarked with danger. “You look older." he said quickly, using the most effective means he knew to head off the storm. “It ages you to lose your temper, Carmel." "Then why! why! why!" she cried, "do you keep me watting? Is it that you like to make of me the old hag. no? I tell you! I will not accept! I will not tolerate!" Breunt laughed a forced sound. "Business before pleasure, my dear,” he said bromidically. “Businezz?” Carmel shrieked. “Ah! It is forever businezz with you! Have you no time for anything else?”

—By Williams

“Certainly,” Brent answered coolly. “I have time for dinner, and I’m famished.” “There is no dinner,” the woman assured him dramatically, throwing her hands heavenward and doing her best with her acquired Gaelic shrug. “Then we will go out. Come along, Carmel, old girl: you’re wasting your talent on me,” Brent told her. “I know your East Side history, remember.” a tt tt “•you are a fool!” Carmel returned spitefully. “If you weren’t such a fool I could love you. You know how I hate to be reminded of that East Side and yet you never forget it. You are a fool.” Well, even fools must eat, my dear. Can’t live on love. Do come along.” “I hate you!” She flung out of the room in haste, but Brent waited, knowing that she would return when she felt she had taxed his patience to the utmost. What a vast relief it would be to fill her place in his life with Helen Page. Helen Page! Brent frowned over his next thought. Could he induce her to fill that place? Wouldn’t it be better perhaps to chuck the whole scheme of things and let her go her own way. No, she was too valuable, much too valuable. He would find use for her. Carmel broke in upon his thoughts, surprising him by her abrupt return. He wondered about is but she said simply that she was hungry. Brent smiled over her revelation of a temperament, controlled by appetite and thought of Helen, who could not eat when her sensibilities were wounded. “What was your businezz? she said softly, slipping her arm in his and turning a dazzling smile upon him. “Had to see a dark man with a bundle.” Brent teased. And Carmel knew him well enough to give up questioning him further. She pulled her arm away and drew her light evening wrap closer about her slenderly voluptuous figure. But her question had sent Brent’s mind back to the old beggar he had met in the coffee house. The encounter already seemed a bit fantastic. but there was one thing he had set his mind on doing before he dropped the matter. (To Be Continued 1 CREATE BIRD REFUGE B V Science Service WASHINGTON. Sept. 7.—A new bird refuge has seen established on a group of islands off the tip of Florida by order of President Herbert Hoover, according to a note in the forthcoming issue of Science. The group consists of Snake Key. North Key and Dead Man or Bird Key. It will be known as the Cedar Keys bird refuge, and will be administered by the biological survey of the United States department of agriculture.

TARZAN OF THE APES

M

Slowly Tarzan deciphered Jane’s letter. It was to a friend in America. In it she narrated their strange experiences. How her father had come into possession of an old Spanish manuscript telling of buried treasure: how they had finally found it; how it had brought misfortune to them, and of Tarzan.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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WASH*'*'-'

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SALESMAN SAP

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MOM’N POP

/wHEߣ's\ XshE'S SENDING A FLOCK OF N DOG-GONE IT \ \ V MOM J[ POST-CARDS. SHE BUYS A BUNCH ) l WISH SHE'D STEP ) / V ? / THEN THINKS OF SOMEONE / ON IT. WE HAVE / .jhf ’ V ELSE AND THAT MEANS A- A LONG WAYS / . A AlfV • / V ANOTHER BATCH TO TRWEI LS \M' A / I —t O-day r r* s'as , —_—^ ’

Tarzan sat long in a brown study after reading the letter. He couldn’t understand much of the new and wonderful things it told of. He wrote beneath Jane’s signature, “I am Tarzan ■ of the Apes.” Next morning she found her missing letter in the exact spot from which it had disappeared, -

—By Martin

A cold, clammy chill ran up her spine as she saw the printed words. But as days passed without mishap, her fears calmed. Unseen by them, Tarzan left offerings of food at the cabin. He told himself that one day he would venture into the canjp and talk with them.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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B.OM’. f WELL. \ HAVE (Msl EXTRfc \ , ZINC; THE ) I POST CARD AND VM J E PARTY. / \ TRYING TO THINK vTS THE h V OF SOMEONE TO J *NT IDEA? / [A. SEND IT TO J \ <t.O A (SLL.WHO, J||r :

A month passed before Tarzan visited the camp by daylight. He found all gone. His golden-haired divinity had vanished! So he printed a mesage for her ... .“I WANT YOU .... 1 AM YOURS .... KNOW THAT TARZAN OF THE APES LOVES YOU.” Suddenly his keen ear* heard a familiar sound.

A gar Rice Buivoughs

It was the passing of a great ape through dhe forest. For an instant he bstened intently. Then from the jungle came the agonized scream of a woman, and Tarzan of the Apes, dropping hi* first Jove letter upon the ground, shojj like a panther into the foresh _

PAGE 11

—By Ahern

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—By Taylor