Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 23, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 June 1930 — Page 18

PAGE 18

OUT OUR WAY

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TwhTWives COPYRIGHT * IBY ARTHUR SOMERS IVOCHE COLLIERS WEEKLV

SYNOPSIS Eleanor Sanver, the heiress, sits In her tox with the man she Is to marry the lollowine day. staring at a beautiful chorus girl who is so much like her In every detail that she might be a twin sister. They go on to a smart night club and And the chorus girl there, and the resemblance proves even more amazing as Eleanor studies the girl. The latter even has all the odd personal tricks, characteristic gestures and mannerisms of Eleanor. In Eleanor's deep perturbation over her pending marriage to Dean, whom she respects, but does not love, her heart turns for sympathy toward the chorus girl, Cynthia Brown. CHAPTER 111 AND everyone on The Keyhole floor united in acclaiming that she and Carey made the handsomest couple present. Had she cared anything about this sort of triumph, she would have been gratified beyond measure, for she was the most-sought-after woman in the place, and this despite the fact that Zogbaum’s actresses were present. But finally Daddy Tom had Charlestoned enough. To her suggestion that they go home he made willing assent, so Eleanor went to the cloakroom to reacquire the wrap which she had left there earlier. As she stood before a mirror in the dressing-room, a gayly metallic voice burst into loud speech: "Well, if our little touch-me-not ' Cynthia ain’t grabbed herself a John after all! And what a boy he must be! Did he borrow the per "Is from his wife or did you picl. them out yourself?” Curiously, Eleanor glanced in the direction whence came the voice. She saw a rather too-brazen beauty, who eyed her grinningly. At the moment there was no one else in the dressing-room. ‘‘Thought you wouldn’t go to the party? Thought you never did go on parties? Thought you didn’t have anything fit to wear, even if did want to go? And here you are dressed like a million, with another million around your neck!” Eleanor's brows drew close together. Quite obviously the speaker had mistaken her for someone else. She had called her by the name of Cynthia, and Eleanor remembered that there had been a Cynthia Brown in the list of names of the chorus at tonight’s show. That name must belong to the girl about whom she had speculated so much. Yet that girl, with all her points of resemblance to Eleanor. had one mark of difference so distinguishing that no one could have mistaken her for Tom Sanver’s daughter. The girl of the chorus had golden hair. Then her bewilderment vanished, as from another door came the girl who was so strikingly like herself. And her hair was as black as Eleanor's own. A blonde wig that she had worn in the chorus had been the only reason why all the rest of the party in the box had not agreed with Eleanor that the likeness was extraordinary. tt * tt Extraordinary? That word was altogether too feeble to describe the resemblance. Feature for feature, even to the lashes, to the hinted-at dimple, to the flaw in the bridge of the nose, to the shoulders a trifle too wide, these two were replicas of each other. Save for the fact that they wore different clothes, there were no means that Eleanor could ascertain instantly whereby one could be told from the other." Eleanor was the first to break the almost stupefied silence. She laughed nervously. "It’s almost like looking into a mirror, isn’t it?” The other girl nodded gravely. ‘‘Except that you don’t make the same motions that I do.” “Your voice is just like mine,” declared Eleanor. “Our clothing and jewelry are a trifle different, though,” the other girl smiled. “You’re Eleanor Sanver, aren’t you?” Tm glad to hear you say so. I thought I might be Cynthia Brown,” replied Eleanor. ‘yrr i*ow on earth did you know my name?” asked the owner of the name. ‘‘How did you know mine?” demanded Eleanor. “I read the papers and see the rotogravures,” said Cynthia. "And a young lady just called me Cynthia. I saw you in the theater tonight, and in spite of your wig I noticed our resemblance to each other. I remembered that there had been a Cynthia Brown cm the pro--5 gram* ■■

"Well, what are we going to do about it?” laughed Cynthia. Heart-whole and fancy-free! So Eleanor had characterized her in the theater, and so, listening to her light gurgle of merriment, she characterized her now. tt tt tt "T'vO about it? Why”—and Eleanor laughed in her turn—“l think we should study each other, look for flhws, and suggest corrections. Looking in a mirror is so unsatisfactory. You never can tell whether the seams run exactly straight in your stockings by looking in a mirror.” “We should wear each other’s clothes, eh?” “Something like that,” assented Eleanor. “Anyway, we must get together; we must find out if we are related. As soon as I return from my—honeymoon,” she stumbled over the word, “I’ll look you up. Will you give me your address?” With perfect simplicity, as though utterly unaware that there was any difference in the social status of a chorus girl and Tom Sanver’s daughter, the girl drew a card from her pocket. “Always have one with me. You never know w T hen you’ll meet a manager who’ll want your address and phone number. Here it is. And I’d love to see you.” Quite unaccountably Eleanor shook hands with Cynthia. “Do you know, I’ve never really had a girl friend. I’d like to have you.” The other girl colored shyly. “I’m the same and feel the same. I wonder if we’re cousins.” “Better than Jhat; we’re friends,” said Eleanor. And something in the girl whose hand she clasped seemed to respond, exactly as Daddy Tom responded to her. She lay awake late that night. Aul her thoughts were not of Phil nor of Dean, but of the replica of herself whom she had met and with whom she knew that she had found something more than an acquaintance or even a friendship. Apprehension had left her; instead something strangely comforting had had taken apprehension’s place. Something touched her shoulder; she awoke, screaming. Aghast, her maid stared at her. “Miss Sanver—l’m so sorry—but it’s 10—.” tt m tt Tj'RIGKT left Eleanor's eyes. The -*• deepest of blushes swept over her cheeks, staining even her throat and breast. “I must have been having a nightmare,” she explained. How could she tell the maid that in her dream the hand that touched her had been the hand of Dean Carey and that its touch had brought the scream of protest to her lips? The maid beamed upon her. “Nightmares just before you’re married mean good luck. Your coffee is just made. Drink it while it’s hot.” • She crossed the room and raised the curtains. ‘As nice a day for a wedding as ever was. And as pretty a bride as ever was, too.” Eleanor's eyes twinkled oVer her cup. “If my husband says as nice things to me as you do, Mary, I’ll be badly spoiled.” Eleanor had recovered now from her embarrassment. Evidently she had not cried Dean’s name, had not indicated to the maid the horror that, in a dream, Dean's touch had inspired. How unjust her subconscious self was to Dean!. Her mouth became tender. Dear Dean! Her conscious self would pay in brimming measure for the injustice done to him by the subconscious self. “Your bath is ready,” the maid interrupted her self-accusatory reverie. “And you haven’t eaten a bite.” she went on. Eleanor shook her head impatient- '■ ly; any intimacy that the nearness of the great occasion might call forth from the maid was effectually cut off by the gesture. Mary had been Eleanor’s maid for five years. Tears and interminable talk would gush from her eyes and lips on the slightest provocation She was more excited by the ap-

—By Williams

IT was not excitement that possessed Eleanor. She was numb, not so much physically as mentally and spiritually. Not even the touch of cold water revived her. This was her wedding day. She should have been all athrill; instead, she was hazily indifferent, save at moments when a feeling akin to panic made her tremble. Her father dropped in to see her while she was in negligee. His bluff heartiness poorly disguised his real nervousness. “How’s my great big lump of a girl? Glad to leave her old dad?” She threw her arms about him. “You know better than that.” "Well, after all, I’m just a father, and parents are natural-bom fools. Kind of been thinking that maybe I shooed this Dean lad along when it was my business to let you manage your own affairs.” Well, four years ago he hadn’t let her manage her own affairs, she thought bitterly. But that was over and done with. Phil had proved himself undeserving of her love, and she must be grateful for her father’s management. And he hadn’t shooed Dean along. Dean had done his own shooing. She smiled up into Daddy Tom’s eyes. “I guess I picked myself the best husband a girl could have,” she bravely equivocated. a tt tt SANVER enveloped her In a mighty hug. “Never forget one thing: A husband is only a husband, but a father is everything.” “I’ll never forget,” she promised. But what did Daddy Tom mean by this grandiloquence? Not a thing in the world. Because the man she had loved lacked money, Daddy Tom had made her see him for the mercenary" thing he was. He’d not tried to bring out the best in Phil, but had shown her his worst. But that was ended now. The maid reminded her that it was now almost 11, and that the ceremony was scheduled for high noon. Eleanor pushed her father from the room and turned to the serious business of arraying herself. Pirouetting before the mirror, her reflection brought inevitably to her mind recollection of Cynthia. She sat down before a table and reached for the telephone. Funny that she didn’t need to look at the card that Cynthia had given her last night. The number was engraved upon her memory as deeply as though she had asked for it every day for months. “This is Eleanor Sanver,” she said. Along the wire came her own laugh. “Did you think I wouldn't know my own voice?” asked Cynthia. “I just wanted to remind you that we’re friends,” said Eleanor. “You don’t need to remind me,’ said the other girl. “And you’ll come to see me as soon as I return?” asked Eleanor eagerly. (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

Cautiously Mcriem crawled to a big tree and from its upper branches paused to plan her next move. She thought Malbihn dead, so terrific a blow had she dealt him, but scarcely had she hid herself than she saw the Swede emerge from his tent, wiping the blood from his face and hurling a volley of abuse and questions at his terrified followers. Shortly afterward, the whole camp set forth in search

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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Stealthily she made he' way to the river. She dared not swim its c'.ocodile-infested waters. In an open space she saw the beached canoes that had brought the party across the night before. But the landing space was in full view of the guard left behind and the craft was an unwieldy thing for a lone girl to handle. Yet there was no other means to safety and she _aqust cross the river. %ickly she ran from ner p-usce.

—By Martin

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No sooner had she launched the canoe and shot out into the stream when a shout from behind the camp told her she was discovered. A moment later she saw Malbihn and his men rush to the landing and push a great canoe from shore. But Meriem’s hopes ran high; they could not overtake her now—five minutes start of them was all she wanted. Malbihn urged his men on with curses and blows, realizing the girl was again slipping from his clutches. '

PUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The canoe, in the bow of which he stood, was only a hundred yards behind the fleeing Meriem when she ran the point of her craft beneath the overhanging trees on the shore of safety. Malbihn screamed at her to halt. He seemed to have gone mad with rage at the realization he could not overtake her. Then he threw his rifle to his shoulder, aimed carefully at the slim figure scrambling into the SSTi "; and MaMhn WBS “ excelleat

.JUNE 6,1930

—l3y Ahern

—By Blossei;

—By Crane'

—By Small

—By Cowan