Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 202, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 January 1930 — Page 7

JAN. 2, 1930.

CUSTER'S LAST STAND RETOLD RT OLD SCOUT Declares He Has Proof of His Statements About Famous Battles. Fty I nitfft Prrn LAWTON. Okla., Jan. 2.—An old Indian scout, who claims to have witnessed the massacre of General Custer and to trace his ancestry to the famous McAlpin famliy of th* east, came to Lawton to visit once again, before his death, the place of his birth. W. B. (Curley) Hicks has followed the trail of adventure for more than four score years and now the trail has led back home. “I know I have been failing the past year and so .1 came back to visit my birthplace,” said the old timer when he arrived here. Tells Thrilling Story Hicks, who claims his real name in McAlpin and that he is .the son of the late George McAlpin. founder of the Philadelphia Masonic lodge, tells a story as thrilling and as adventurous as those of the Diamond Dick novels of generations ago. With his long, silvery hair hanging to his shoulders, the pioneer, who stands erect and walks with a firm step despite his age of 89 years, recites minute details of Custer’s last stand in Wyoming, either persons claim they are survivors of Custer’s last, stand, but they are "fakes,” declares Hicks. Has the Proof "Why should I say I have had these experiences if there Is no truth behind my statements?” the old scout asks. "I have been traveling about fifty years and proof of my adventures are in the historical societies’ records. Curley said Custer was a lieutenant colonel, not a general. He said Custer’s widow lives in New York and that Sitting Bull was eight miles away when Custer and his men were killed. He said Chief Gall conducted the raid against Custer. Custer saw he was outnumbered and motioned for Hicks to come to him. He gave the scout a message to be delivered to General Terrey. Hicks claimed that when about fifty paces away he turned and saw’ Custer place his hand to his head and side and fall, mortally wounded.

U. S. LEADS NATIONS AS SOAP CONSUMER Per Capita Use is 25 Pounds Each Year, Survey Shows. By T'nitrd Prrxs CHICAGO. Jan. 2. Monday washdays and Saturday night baths have combined to place Americans at the top of the soap consuming nations. This Is In spite of the reluctance of little junior to have his ears washed, according to Roscoe C. Edlund, general director of the Cleanliness institue, at the annual meeting of the Association of American Soap and Glycerine Producers here. Higher cleanliness standards inculcated into our people by physicians, public health authorities and educators have made necessary the output of 3.000,000.000 pounds of soap each year. Compared to our twenty-five-pound per capita average is the four-pound average in most European countries.

LONDON POLICE USE NEW TYPE CALL BOX Booths Placed Every Half Mile far Both Cops and Public. Bu Unit' and Pn ** LONDON, Jan. 2. Scotland Yard's latest device to aid law enforcement. blue-colored steel booths, is now in operation. There are a thousand of these cabinets throughout London. Tlie boxes are being used by both police and public. Through them the public will be able to find an officer within a few minutes, report direct to a police station any accident or crime, ask for advice, call out the utility van for emergency, bring a posse of police to surround a house and warn neighboring posts of fleeing automobile bandits. The boxes are all blue and slightly larger than a telephone booth. They are placed a half a mile apart LOVERS FIFTY YEARS l nitcd Press LIMA, 0., Jan. 2.—Married fifty years and still sweethearts. That's tlie claim of Mr. and Mrs. Lon Brower here, who have just celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. Their recipe for wedded bliss is ''pull together, be economic and work hard.” Above all, both assert, '‘Don't get angry at the same time.” HUMAN VOICE USTS BALTIMORE, Jan. 2.—When it comes to a contest between me■hanical and human voices, the latter has the former beaten. The tenor of Frank S. Walsh. Tor proof, has outlasted three organs and five choir masters at St. Luke's Episcopal church here. He has been a chorister for sixty years.

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(Continued Prom Page 1) may have worked in her disfavor. These facts alone do not explain the situation. To understand fully you must have a look at Judith. The hair upon which young Tim Mulligan feasted his eyes so extravagantly was neither chestnut nor golden. It was somewhere in between the two shades, a lovely hiding place for sunbeams which seemed perpetually entrapped. It curled softly and ever so becomingly in waves which were loose and gave her clipped head distinction. In a distressing time when four out of every five girls seemed to be in the "growing-out” stage between long and short tresses, Judith Cameron’s neat bob was a glory to behold. Wispy tendrils touching her forehead called attention to the delicate oval molding of the girl's face. The eyebrows were dark, sweeping well backward as though drawn with one swift stroke. There was a faint, glowing pink which waded and then came pack quickly to Judith’s cheeks if she were surprised or, as she had been at Carla's remark, annoyed. Her lips were coral shaded and could be either sweetly child-like or resentful. These details, while worth noting, are still not the key to Judith Cameron's personality. That was to be found—or rather to be sought for—in a pair of blue eyes very dark in coloring, fringed by heavy lashes and slightly elongated in outline. Those eyes were the arresting feature of the girl’s countenance. They looked as you they measured you, and they gave back not one suggestion of their owner's thoughts. Judith’s eyes were enigmatic and so was her character. The eyes were very beautiful. They had attracted Arthur Knight from the veyy moment his glance had first fallen upon his new employe. On a sudden whim he had wanted to know more about the girl. Knight was not the sort of man to ‘‘carry on” with pretty stenographers who struck his fancy. He was. on the contrary, the sort of man whose private correspondence and all secretarial duties were performed by a feminine assistant well beyond 35 years of age, fifteen of these spent in the employ of the publishing company. B ft tt HPO satisfy his interest in Miss l Cameron, the girl with those odd. unusual eyes. Arthur Knight summoned his secretary, Miss Tuoper. ‘‘l notice we have anew girl in the outside office. Is she going to make out all right?” “Why, yes. I think so, Mr. Knight. She’s a beginner, recommended highly, though, by the Baldwin school, Mr. Edwards said. He hired her. Has there been anything—?” “No, no! No criticism. Will you get me her office record, please?” Kathryn Tupper had elevated her brows a bit as she went for the desired card. Odd that Mr. Knight should be making such inquiries! Kathryn Tupper thought the she knew her employer’s mind and his moods better than any one else in the world. She had thought that even two years ago before Mrs. Arthur Knight’s sudden illness and death. Aged 37, sallow-skinned and too thin, with spectacles protecting her weak eyes and indigestion sharpening her disposition, still the eternal feminine in Miss Tupper made her watch over Arthur Knight’s wellbeing with hawk-like jealousy. She was a confifidential secretary. She attended to personal letters and allowance checks tc Knight’s son and daughter, both now being submitted to expensive “educative" systems. Each year Miss Tupper bought the larger portion of Arthur Knight’s Christmas gifts—always all those for the employes. Each year she thought it a pity that he seemed so lonely, so dependent upon her judgment, and then brought her thoughts up abruptly! There was no use, of course, indulging in day dreaming. Miss Tupper was quite, quite sure that Arthur Knight, cherishing the memory of his first wife, “would never look at another woman.” Meekly she snuffed out her own

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smoldering hopes and told herself it was a great thing to be asosciated in a business way with such a fine man as Arthur Knight. Something about Knight’s inquiry concerning the new’ girl the day he first saw her stirred up this hornet's nest in Miss Tupper’s mind. Nevertheless she went quickly and brought him the desired card. It was just such a record as most large commercial concerns keep for handy information about all their employes. It was a white oblong of pasteboard of the usual card index six with lines crossing it horizontally and perpendicularly. One line said “Name.” Another said “Position.” There were half a dozen other lines which had been filled in with neat typing. From this card Arthur Knight gleaned information about his new employe with which he had to content himself. Her name was Judith Cameron. (He had not known even that much before.' She was —surprisingly!—24 years old. And she had been hired ten days previously, and her salary was $22 a week. According to the card. Judith Cameron was “single” and her residence was in one of the East Sixties. Knight could visualize the sort of rooming house that address would be, and his visualization was accurate. It was an old brown stone front on one of the right streets, but in one of the wrong blocks. Distinctly a wrong block! The sort of dim and dismal long row of , rooming places, all much alike, which crowd in between the neat spic and span, elegant brick edifices with awninged entrances and impeccable door men. Asa matter of fact, Judith sacrificed almost one-half of her monthly Income for the doubtful privilege of climbing to the fifth floor of her -dingy rooming house and calling a dim little back room there her own. Knight didn't know, of course, that Judith Cameron lived entirely alone. Most of the young women employed in the publishing house shared ‘‘furnished apartments” with one or two other girls. It was the only plan which made possible fur coats paid for in weekly installments, cheap little copies of satin and velvet frocks bought on Seventh avenue while the original gowns were still being exhibited on Fifth, new high-heeled pumps every three months, and oh, so many pairs of fragile chiffon hose. 808 THE prosperous publisher, leaning back thoughtfully in his comfortable desk chair, studied the card in his hand. There was such incongruity between this lovely young woman —24 she really wasn’t just a girl any longer—and the tawdry boarding house of his imagination. Strange, the way her appearance had taken his fancy. Twenty-four! Arthur Knight’s face sobered. He brushed one hand backward against his grayed temple. Knight had been 48 on his last birthday. The touch of gray in his dark hair increased his well-tailored, athletic good looks. No matinee idol, Arthur Knight generally won feminine attention for his handsome chin and level, friendly brown eyes. Another glance at the card. Miss Cameron never had been employed before. She had come to Hunter Bros, on the recommendation of her business training school and it was one of the best in the city. Hunter’s made rather a specialty of taking on inexperienced workers—providing their recommendations were satisfactory —and training them in the business. Old John Hunter himself had established the policy because he said it was harder to retrain a man after he had learned wrong habits than it was to teach him in the first place. Also, of course, beginners take low salaries. There was a two-inch space at the bottom of the record card, and above this blank space was the word "Remarks.” Evidently in Judith's case the employment department had found no remarks worth setting down. A vision of two shadowed, narrow blue eyes rose before Arthur Knight. He pushed an electric button on his desk and summoned Miss Tupper. “I am going out for an hour or two. If Cunningham calls from Boston ask Mr. Fisher to talk to

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him. Oh, by the way, here is that record card ” Then as casually as he came and left the office each day, Arthur Knight took his hat and departed. He did not walk through the outer office where Judith and the four other stenographers were pounding their typewriters. Certainly there had been nothing in that morning’s happenings to arouse in Kathryn Tupper’s breast a dark, abiding resentment against Judith Cameron. And just as certainly that is what had happened. Since Miss Tupper, in addition to her secretarial duties, supervised the five girls In th eouter office, this was unfortunate for Judith. There are so many ways a woman executive can make life mi.serable for a girl who works under her direction. Judith, who was not quick at transcribing shorthand or swift at typing, had to bear the brunt of this ill-will.

MISS TUPPER would step Into the outer office at twenty minutes after 11 and say, “Oh, Miss Cameron, will you copy these pages for me before you go out to lunch? It’s a rush job.” Or perhaps it would be a message to take to some other office in the building with instructions to “wait for a reply.” Since Judith’s lunch hour was from 11:30 until 12:30 and the afternoon’s schedule was already filled with work, such tasks meant that her lunch time was cut in half and, often, that when the others filed out of the office at 5 o’clock Judith Cameron still was at her desk. Tim Mulligan was the only one who sympathized. Once he came over to Judith’s desk after Miss Tupper had departed, leaving fresh tasks, and delivered himself: “Say, that old skirt’s got a crust bringing you all the extra work. Why don’t you tell her where to get off at?" Judith was resentful herself, but she couldn’t show it to Tim. “Oh—l don’t mind,” she said, thinking down in her heart what a liar she was. “Well, you’d ought to mind! Gee, she picks on you all the time. Person would think these other dames are just around here for scenery. Too bad they couldn’t help you a little!” Tim’s little gray eyes w-ere directed in sharp reproof toward Carla Morrison’s desk. Carla, inspecting her lips with a honeyed smile and hummed nonchalantly: “I can’t give you anything but love, Baby—” It was something, of course, to have even little Tim Milligan champion her cause. But it didn’t help out much. Judith for a moment

considered the pleasant prospect of telling Miss Tupper “where to get off at.” It would be pleasant! But e we-idn't do it. Oh, no—no indeed she wouldn’t. me reason oauith Cameron could not object when overwork was piled on her shoulders was one of the secrecies of her existence which she guarded so very, very closely. . Nobody at Hunter Brothers knew anything, really, about Judith Cam- ! eron. It was Judith’s firm intention j that nobody there ever should learn any more than they already knew. She would ha.'e been glad to exchange friendly greetings, little jokes and casual pleasantries with the other girls, just as she did with Tim, if only they had been willing. They weren’t—and made it plain enough. It hurt quite a bid to be left to herself so completely. It hurt still more to listen to Carla’s sneers and ! the sly, half-swallowed giggles of the other girls. Carla was the leader in everything which happened in that room. She was a dark, vivid creature without attractive features, but an animated manner which attracted interest. Carla talked about “sugar daddies” and w T as forever flaunting cheap jewelry and other gifts. Shrewdly Judith Cameron suspected that most of the talk was for effect and that the bold, restless Carla was not nearly so wild as she pretented. BUB CARLA had been at Hunter’s now.- for three years. A long time, she said, and without hesitation she voluntered “the low’-down” on all the other office workers to her companions. Though Judith was never included in these gossip sessions, she heard most of them—which was as the speakers intended. The three other girls were Adelaide Conway, Stella Williams and Mitzi Kraft. Mitzi’s name w-asn’t really Mitzi. Sht had adopted it from a favored actress and all of the others thought it “cute." Mitzi, w’hen the others were not about, frequently made overtures toward Judith. She asked her one night to make a fourth on an expedition to Coney Island, and was offended w’hen Judith refused. After that the rumors about Judith Cameron’s “high hat” ways multiplied. “You know there really Is something funny about that girl,” Carla Morrison confided to her friends one day in the w-ash room. “Gosh —wouldn’t I like to get the dirt and dish it!” “Do you really suspect ?” Stella ventured. “Sure I do! Only nobody knows anything. Miss Tupper doesn’t ’cause I asked her. Say—wait a minute —I’ve got a bright idea!” Carla Morrison’s dark eyes flashed with excitement. “I’ve got a little idea I’m going to spring this afternoon. Maybe we’ll learn something; anyhow it’ll be fun. When I walk over to Cameron’s desk this afternoon all of you listen!” All of them were listening with both ears when, near the middle of the afternoon, Caria deliberately

arose from her desk, walked over toward a window on the side of the room where Judith sat and stared for a moment at the street below. Then she turned about, saw that three pairs of eyes were watching her and moved lazily toward Judith. Here eyes dropped and she said quietly, “Miss Cameron ” Judith looked up. “Yes, What is it?” Was Carl* Morrison’s smile mockery or friendliness? “I saw you last night.” It happened so very quickly! Each ; of the girls watching saw the change j and yet each doubted her own eye- | sight. They saw Judith Cameron, | the poised, the unapproachable, go | suddenly white as marble, saw her | tremble as though struck by a blow, j and clutch at her desk. The next | moment color was flowing back into | the girl’s cheeks, her voice was at least half-steady and she was saying: “You saw me?" “Why, yes. I’m sure it was you! You were getting on a bus in front of the library. Guess you must have been reading last night.'” “Yes,” Judith’s voice answered huskily. “Yes. I did read last j night.” A quiet came over the room. Quiet which lasted nearly ten minutes, until Judith, holding a handkerchief to her face as though about to sneeze, arose and left the room.

Buzzing set in at once! “Did you see that?” gasped Adelaide. “Did you SEE it! Why, she was white as a sheet. Honestly, I thought for a minute she was going to faint or something.” “Me, too” chimed in Mitzi. “Gosh —I was scared.” “But, girls—” Carla held the floor. “Girls, I didn’t see her! I only wanted to know what she’d say to me. Don’t you see that proves it? Don’t you know how guilty consciences act? That girl’s got something on her chest, believe me!" The four girls hovered together. Their voices were quieter now. The sound of footsteps came from the hall, and when Judith was again in the room all. of them w-ere deep in their afternoon tasks. b a a THE rest of that day Judith Cameron was a trifle paler than usual and she was absolutely silent. Silence was one of the girl’s distinctive qualities. It is true that there ware certain facts about which she had made up her mind not to speak and which no one—not ever Arthur Knight himself—could have dragged, from her. But aside from these matters, in normal e eryday life Judith was a quiet girl She had a way of sitting for long moments at a time without speaking and yet without giving any sign that there was constraint in the air. Judith knew the precept of the French philosopher: “Speech was invented for the concealment of thought.” She approved of it. Two persons knew the true story of Judith Cameron’s private life. There was, she assured herself, not the slightest likelihood that either would ever reach the office of Hunter Brothers.

For two months now she had been leading this dreary existence. Up at 7 to make toast, dress and catch the 8 o’clock subway. Hot, stuffy, nauseating ride, and then the cool air and tramp to the Hunter building. Ten flights by elevator and into her office chair by 8:30. Work, work, work until 5 o’clock in the afternoon. Home again. Supper. Bed time. The whole wearisome routine to do over again. Os course there were brief intervals which broke the routine. There were trips to a dingy west side ad- | dress occasionally. There was now j and then a dinner with a foreign- | looking young man who wore a mustache. There was nothing gay. nothing bright and nothing scintillating in the dull monotony into which this girl with the glamorous eyes of mystery had permitted herself to be caught. Now and then Judith Cameron wondered. Sometimes she sulked. Too much of solitary monotony will do that. Twenty-four, she told herself, is no age to be a pouting child. Still, at 24, Judith Cameron cried herself to sleep on more than one night. God bless Tim Mulligan for his friendliness! mum JUDITH was feeling rather “up” in spirits one November afternoon when Miss Tupper opened the door of the large office and came over to the girl’s desk. “Dam!” thought Judith to herself, “More night work.” It might have been better if it had been. Instead, looking like the avenging angel herself, Miss Kathryn Tupper paused long enough to remark: “Mr. Knight would like to see you, Miss Cameron.” “Mr. Knight ?” “Yes. That’s what I said. At once. In his office.” Nine out of ten stenographers summoned without warning before their office superior would have stolen at least a second or two to pop open the mirror of a powder container and dab surreptitiously at nose and chin. Judith didn’t. She arose, carrying her shoulders very straight and her chin very high. She moved quickly and gracefully toward the door of Knight’s office. A gentle rap. “Yes. Come in" She heard him calling from the inside of the room, opened the door

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and stepped across the threshold. It was the first time that she had ever entered Arthur Knight's study. That was what the room really appeared to be, so comfortbly and artistically was it furnished. There was a thick, dark carpet on the dark stained floor. Walls, half-wain-scoted with walnut, were lined with volumes, and more were stacked above. Over near the window, the afternoon light streaming across his shoulders, sat Arthur Knight before a desk. He looked up. “Oh—Miss Cameron! Won't you have a chair here?” He indicated with a wave of his hand the one which was nearest to him. Judith silently came forward and took the chair. Then, having settled herself, the blue eyes met him. waited intently. “You wanted to see me?” Judith asked quietly. “Why, yes. Yes!” There were traces of roseate color rising in Arthur Knight’s cheeks. He looked away from the girl, clasped his hands together on his desk and then looked back at her again. “Yes. I wanted to see you,” h said slowly. “I wanted to ask you, Miss Cameron, if you would do me the honor of taking dinner with me?” (To Be Continued)

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