Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 106, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 September 1929 — Page 15

SEPT. 12, 1929

OUT OUR WAY

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THIS HAS HAPPENED HELEN PAGE feels unhappy when the girls at boarding school tease her about posing as Miss Simplicity Just to please her handsome guardian, LEONARD BRENT, with whom they accuse her of being in love. And her roommate calls her a fool after they see him at the Riiz one day with another woman. Brent refuses 'to tel her about her parentage until after she graduates. One day Brent spies a gold locket on a beggar who has fallen in an alley. He bends over to take the locket and hears mumbled words which cause him to try to save the old man. However, all he can learn Is that the beggar's name is CHARLES OWENS NELLIN; that his wife is dead and that he has hidden a daughter from her wealthy grandfather, CYRIL K. CUNNINGHAM, of Yonkers. Posing as a newspaper man searching for story material, Brent learns much of value to his purpose from the corner store gossip who knows the history of the eccentric millionaire. He goes back to find Nellin and the cheap hotel manager tells him that an old man by the name of •'Owens" had died there and been sent to the morgue. Helen is graduated and he tells her that he is ready to disclose her parentage and early history. NOW GO ON WITH THE STOB.T

CHAPTER IX ' are,” Brent said tensely, I “an heiress, Helen.” “An heiress!” Helen was bewildered. If Brent had lost his money. . . . Suddenly she laughed. He had money for her, of course. Her own money in some way. And he had lost much of his fortune. A wave of gladness swept over her, filled her eyes with a shining light. Things hadn’t changed for them after all. She would simply give her money to Leonard. Che tried to tell him this, in words that came with a rush. “You needn’t have told me anything,” she cried. “Everything could have been just as it was. About the money, mean. Os course I want to know about my parents, but I’ve always hoped ” She stopped, the new experience of letting her thoughts run to words falling short of carrying her through. And, too, it had come to her suddenly that she might be revealing too much of her feeling for her guardian. He had not yet asked her for love, she reminded herself. Brent did not let a silence fall uppn them. “I'm afraid you don t understand. Helen," he said, making an effort to be patient. "You will not be able to obtain your money unless I tell you your story. Even then you may not get it. Personally, I rather hope you won’t, because Id still like you to regard me as being necessary to you." “Necessary?” Helen said it blankly. The accent secretly elated Brent. He understood it perfectly, knew that Helen considered the word not half strong enough. “Yes,” he said. “I can’t flatter myself that any other ideas I might have could come to anything.” Helen smiled. “Then tell me," she said, “the rest of the story. Whose money will I inherit, my father's? My mother's?” “Neither." Brent answered briefly, "your grandfather's." “My grandfather! Have Ia grandfather living?” “You surely have.” * an HELEN caught his arm. "Why didn't you tell me?” she pleaded. Brent was ready with his answer. “I’d not be telling you now.” he said, "if I hadn't promised your father that I would do it when you were grown." “Tell me about my father, and my mother." Helen urged. “I never knew your mother,” Brent replied. "Your father, of course, you know, was one of my closest friends. But I hadn't seen him for several years before your birth—not until I went down to Mexico at his dying request to take you under my care.” “And my mother?” Helen pressed. "Where was she?” “She had died a year before.” “In Mexico?” “Yes.” Helen was thoughtful for a moment. thinking of that year her father was alone. “I wonder why he didn't bring me back to the United States," she exclaimed finally. “For the same reason that he took your mother out of this country,” Brent told her. "Can you tell me that?” Helen said, half afraid that still some of the story would be withheld from her. "1 mean to tell you everything.” Brent declared. "Just listen., dear.

Remember one night several weeks ago when I came up to see you at school and we dined at the inn? You said then that you weren’t even sure that your name was Helen Page.” He paused, to give weight to his next words. Helen remained silent. "Well,” he said slowly. “It isn’t. You aren’t Helen Page. Only your middle name Is Helen. Your father took the name of Page so that your grandfather—your mother’s father—would find it more difficult to locate him and your mother.” “Why?” Helen cried. “Because your grandfather is an old tartar, my dear girl, and your father had incurred his wrath by marrying your mother. You see he wasn’t a wealthy man, poor Charles; luck always went against him. And your mother was the only child of a very rich man.”

BRENT was sure of his last statement. Further investigation followed his trip to Yonkers had revealed this to be true. He had no hesitation in declaring it. “Charles,” Helen whispered. “That is my father’s name?” “Yes, Charles Nellin.” He considered it wise to avoid mentioning the name Owens. There might be a chance that Cunningham did not know that it was Nellin’s. He didn’t want Helen using it when she went to her grandfather. “And the rest of it?” she demanded. “What is my name, Leonard?” “Your name is Evangeline Helen Cunningham. I have always called you Helen because I preferred it to Evangeline. You were named for 3 f our mother.” Helen breathed it after him. She told herself she had never heard a more beautiful word. “Evangeline, Evangeline.” “How much nearer to me it brings my mother to know her name,” she said to Brent. He sighed. “You see.” he said, “already . . . you will want to see her home, won’t you?” “Oh, yes,” Helen answered, swift in her understanding, “but that can’t come between us in any way.” way.” “We shall see,” Brent said gloomily. “But I want you to remember that your grandfather was my friend’s enemy—your father’s enemy. I ’ean’t enjoy the thought of giving you over to him.” “You won’t need to,” Helen promised “I don’t want his money, Leonard. How could I want It when he was unkind to my mother?” “Well,” Brent hedged, “he had his side of the case, I suppose. You see, I'm not an impartial judge. To me Charles Nellin was a real man, a true friend, and my sympathy was entirely with him. “What did my grandfather do to him?” “Nothing, in a way. He refused to give his permission to Nellin’s marriage with his daughter. He's as proud as the old Nick, but that v.ai natural because Charles was only a poor chap—a musician, in feet. But he got the idea in his head that Cunningham was trying to take his wife away from him. “I can't say whether he was justified or not. but he probably was. At any rate, he left the country and changed his name. It isn't so much what Cunningham did to him that matters. “He had small opportunity to act against him. Charles kept out of his way. The marriage was an elopement. And afterward Charles never saw your grandfather again." a a a “ \ ND my mother? Did she go back?” "Never. But Charles feared that she might, and it was this fear that drove him to Mexico. Your grandfather is guilty of having ruined his life. He made a vagabond of him. . “But your mother had more cause for bitterness. Her father refused her one and only appeal for aid—refused it cruelly. It was made for your sake. Helen, and it broke your mother's heart to know that you were to be left behind her in poverty. The letter she received from her father hastened her death.”

—By Williams

“Oh, my poor mother,” Helen moaned. “That is why I have no kind feeling for Cyril Cunningham,” Brent commented acidly. “I hate him!” Helen exclaimed. “I never want to see him!” Brent waited a moment for her agitation to pass. “I'm afraid we can’t either of us make that possible,” he said earnestly, “unless we are to break a promise to your father.” “But I never promised,” Helen protested. “I promised for you,” Brent explained to her. “You see, dear, before your mother’s death she begged Charles to take you back to America and appeal to her father once more to help you. “I’m afraid she knew that poor Charles was scarcely the man to bring up a motherless girl and provide for her in a proper way. But Charles was too bitter to comply with her request. It preyed on his mind, however, and when he knew he was near death itself he sent for me and asked me to fulfill her wish.” “But you didn’t,” Helen interjected swiftly, “and I don’t see why we should do it now.” “Your father gave me plenty of time,” Brent soothed her. “He wanted to put it off as long as possible, and my assurance that I would give you a fitting education eased his mind about not sending you to your grandfather while you were a baby. “No doubt he feared that you would be brought up to think hima scoundrel and he couldn’t endure that, for he loved you very much, Helen.” “Poor daddy,” Helen murmured tenderly. “But I gave him my solemn promise that, if you lived until you were grown. I would tell you about your parents and see that you fulfilled your mother's dying wish. You must not fail me, Helen.” “Is that what you meant when you spoke of the role I was being groomed for?” Helen asked him. “When you said that I must obey your wishes in preference to my own?” Her question was unexpected, but Leonard Brent rarely was caught off his guard. When he spoke it was with confidence in his ability to satisfy her and push his crooked scheme another foot ahead. (To Be Continued) MAD DRIVE IS COSTLY Ru T'nited Pres BIRMINGHAM. Ala., Sept. 12. When Andrew Lewis was accidentally shot in the left arm by H. M. McCoy, Teddy Taylor, Negro, set out to drive the injured man to the hospital. Four automobiles were damaged in collisions during Teddie’s mad drive, and a judge said, “Suspended from driving for six months and fine of SSO and costs.”

TARZAN OF THE APES

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Jane realized she was being borne away a captive. She struggled desperately. But Tarzan’s strong arms held her more tightly. Once he looked down into her eyes and smiled. The face above her was of extraordinary beauty. Presently he took to the trees. On and on they went for many miles.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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Now they had come to their destination. In his strong arms Tarzan placed her softly upon the green turf. She noted his magnificent figure towering above her, its perfect symmetry, the poise of his fine head upon his broad shoulders. Surely his purpose could not be base or cruel.

—By Martir

With a bound Tarzan sprang into the trees and disappeared. Had he left her there to her fate in the lonely jungle? .... She heard a sudden, slight sound! .... There stood Tarzan, his arms filled with luscious, ripe fruit. He stroked her hair and tried to comfort and quiet her.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

BAioUe H~ As Voll are, His feuJ Art p farH JKR|M<3 -so CLAIM A SHARE OF Ms BEfWEErt HOURS OF SoBBRrtBSS. the estate left me BV mV fcM PIP vour dear olp * UAJC-LE I FIMP “THAT -THIS W EVER TfeLL. Voci OFYHfi EPISOPB PARcHmekK POCUMEkIT of US ABOUT A certaiai HooPte <J'*, ILLUSTRIOUS HooPLES, KIfiPLV \ s ‘ p^ go MEU-ToM VOUR SIDE E FAMILV lAi -THE RECORPS [ SgLAMP 1 V J RECALL MV PEAR CLP HKLS tooW IiPFATH&R “Tfe-L-UIAiG ME AS \ "TVtEV CALLEP Him .AP, THAT THERE t<JAS A OF SOME KIAJP IM VoUR CLAIkJ, U j IAX <A i r iy (A iA 'M

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, r A KNOCKOUT ON ANT DANCE FLOOR, ON ANV BEACH. THE N J

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The last few hours had taught her to trust this strange, wild creature. It commenced to dawn upon her that she had, possibly learned something she had never really known before —LOVE. She wondered—and then she smiled. .. . . And still smiling, she pushed ' jarzan gently away, pointing to the

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Together, in silence they ate. He made a little bower of boughs and grasses. Then he did the only thing he knew to assure Jane of her safety. He handed her his knife—motioning her to sleep. Bhe entered, while Tarzan stretched himself upon the ground across the entrance. *

PAGE 15

—By Ahern

—By Blosser*

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Taylo: