Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 29, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 June 1930 — Page 24

PAGE 24

OUT OUR WAY

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TwiifWives COPVPIQMT * BY ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE colliers weekly

SYNOPSIS Two girls, Cynthia Brown of the chorus and Eleanor Sawer. daughter of millions, twins in every detail except of birth, agree to exchange identities for a few hours and Cvnthia goes to the home of Eleanor, the heiress, where Eleanor s large wedding reception is in progress and lets herself into Elearnor s bedroom where Eleanor is supposed to he resting from excitement and fatiquc. Instead, she is at the bedside of a foirner flame. Phil, who has tried to kill himself. Cvnthia is frightened, but determined to help Eleanor. Her first hazard Is with Eleanor's maid, but the latter accepts her as Eleanor without the slightest hesitancy and Cvnthia nerves herself to go down stairs and face Eleanor s father and Dean whom Eleanor had married a few hours earlier in the day. CHAPTER NINE SHE might as well try a high hand instantly. And it succeeded, as boldness so often wins where temporizing fails. Quick tears came to the maid's eyes. “You know. Miss Eleanor, that I’d rather die than breeze a word. I told them that you were lying down, that you couldn't be disturbed. and when your father insisted that you see him, I Just was fresh to him.’’ Her own daring frightened her in retrospect. Cynthia threw a caressingly protective arm about the maid. “I’ll fix that with my father,’’ she assured the maid. “And now I'll go downstairs.’’ Besides the door to the maid’s room, and the doors to the bath and closets, there were two other means of exit or entrance, both closed now. One of them must lead to the hall and stairs, and the other to a room at the front of the house. Pc.;sibly Eleanor had a living room, a study, her own mus.c room. Cynthia wished that there had been times for explanation of the thousand petty details of Eleanor’s life and living, ignorance of any one of which might bring disaster to the impostor. Which of these doors, since in a moment she must be going downstairs, was the proper one to open? Thus far she had been highly successful in her imposition upon Mary the maid. She had been aided, of course, by the fact that Mary expected Eleanor That fact would work to her advantage with all the others whom she would meet downstairs. The uncanny physical resemblance would be helped out by the mental attitude of everybody. But against these two great factors in her behalf there was opposed a factor that might even be greater, and this was her complete ignorance of everything and every .one familiar with Eleanor. . It was not simply the physical -identity of another person which 'she must assume: she mush show an ; exact knowledge of poeple and things which months of study could *hardlv have given her. " Even the milieu in which Eleanor had her being was as unknown to Cynthia as the life on some remote pianet. She never had seen a butler save in the theater. The functions of a ladies' maid u\e could guess at. but the duties of other servitors in a house of great wealth were matters closed to her information. Even now. if she made a move toward the wrong door. Mary, the maid, might be surprised. That surprise might not be important, but if it were followed by a few other revelations of her mistress’ unfamiliarity with matters that should be second nature to the daughter of Thomas Sanver. this first petty surprise would be remembered, would weigh down the scales of suspicion. a a a BUT as she hesitated Mary unwittingly came to her resue. She walked past her mistress and opened a door that, Cynthia saw, faced a stair landing. Cynthia hid a smile of relief. The incident taught her something, to let the other fellow make the first move, whenever that was possible. Then, as she almost reached the door. Mary threw her arms unexpectedly about her. Her tears splashed upon Cynthia's hands. She shrank with a democratic distaste, as the maid, in an excess of devotion. kissed her upon the hands. “Oh. alannah. sure it’s the beautiful bride ye wor!” Mary, in the hysteria which she undoubtedly felt proper to the occasion, and the histrionism of which was accented by the reality of her recent apprehenk sions, relapsed temporarily into \ttae brogue which she had outgrown Shaa* ago.

“Sure, it’s my own sweet girl that’s grown into a fine woman, and lucky the man downstairs that couldn’t be knowin’ what a treasure lamb he’s after gettin’.” This, Cynthia felt, was the beginning of what might prove to be a dangerous situation. She did not know how Eleanor had treated the maid, whether there had grown up between them that confidential intimacy that may exist between a mistress and her maid. She might make a response to the maid’s affection that would arouse doubt. And then she acted on pitying impulse. She kissed the maid swiftly and passed through the door. She had done the very thing that Eleanor would have done, and somehow she knew it. She descended a flight of stairs, to appear unexpectedly to the view of scores of people. In her simplicity, she had thought that because she had mounted two flights of stairs she would descend two flights before coming upon her guests. Already she was thinking of her guests, so hard was she trying to put herself completely in the part which she had begun to portray. Even the magnificence of the stairway, and tlie noises which ascended to her. failed to warn her that the sweeping curve of the stairs would end in a tremendous apartment crowded with guests. She had supposed that the Sanver home would be divided into floors exactly like a house in Ohio. Steeling herself against an ordeal, she had not noticed that this single flight of stairs was exactly twice as long as the back stairs which had led to Mary's room. Her hand went in startled fashion to her heart. Many an old ro;*. there, glancing at the lovely figure that seemed poised for startled retreat, glanced enviously at the bridegroom. Here was Diana poised for flight, but the flight would be into the arms of Dean Carey. And those who did not look upon woman as a thing of pleasure alone, but as one who bravely assumed her share of life’s burden’s, felt that quick stirring of pity which the wise feel for ignorant youth standing on the threshold of- life. a a a AND then envy and pity were forgotten in the wild greeting that rose from hundreds of voices. Weddings are no longer matters cf solemn dignity. At least, if the ceremony itself has dignity, the receptions that follow divest themselves of solemnity. Only that trusted functionary who possessed the keys to Thomas Sanver’s guarded cellars could have told how many cases of champagne it had taken to disrobe Gayety of the garb of solemnity. Abashed by the liquor-inspired cheers. Cynthia's first inclination to flee might have been acted upon. But a man, big, burley and good humored, seized her. He lifted her from the floor. For a moment a virginal impulse made her struggle. Then, at the I hurt surprise in his eyes, she recognized him from pictures she had seen in the newspapers. It was Eleanor's father. As his lips touched hers she knew that she was irrevocably bound to go through with this impersonation. For he was the sort of man to whom she felt drawn as though his own blood might have flowed in her veins. Gentle, kindly, decent—from a I hurt that might be inflicted by his own daughter, she, an utter stranger. would protect him. She could not have told any of the details of the ten minutes that followed upon her recognition of Thomas Sanver and her yielding to his parental caress. She only knew that certain fears : had proved for the moment groundless: it was not necessary for her , to recognize individuals whom Eleanor had known for years. All she had to do was smile and accept evidences of affection. And then, exactly as an eddy in I the river's bend tosses the floating I twig into a quiet backwater, so she found herself beside Dean Carey. Kaleidoscopic as her impressions were, she had managed to gather one salient fact, and this was that Eleanor’s long absence had aroused no rumor. At least if rumor had | stirred in its normally restless slumber, her appearance had put it

—By Williams

soundly to sleep again. Thomas Sanver and Dean Carey possibly had by their manners stilled any suspicions, or more probably suspicions had never arisen. If there had been reproach in the eyes of Eleanor’s father, Cynthia had not recognized it. And now, if Eleanor’s husband felt hardly used at the bride’s denial of herself to him, he certainly did not indicate it in any way. Rather a light flashed in his eyes, a light that a woman needs to see only once to recognize certainly. It was a light that spoke of things so sweetly intimate, so strongly protective, so yielding and triumphant at the same time, that Cynthia felt toward Eleanor a quick and burning hatred. n n u SHE had seen Carey’s picture in the papers, but had glanced at it uninterestedly. She was surprised that she remembered his every feature so distinctly. \v lin the hatred for Eleanor wes also onderment. How could any girl orutally abandon this man? She found herself turning her head away to hide a wave of color. Carey reached toward her; possessed of her hand, he whispered in her ear. “We can leave any minute,’’ he said. Now she managed to look fairly at him. His gray eyes met her. own. Now was the time for incredulity, for bewilderment, for anger to appear in his expression. For certainly, she sickeningly felt, the bridegroom could not be deceived in his bride. The whole bizarre adventure became ridiculously futile. She had told Eleanor that the reason Phil Jennings would not be deceived by any resemblance was because Eleanor loved Jennings. Not Jennings’ own love, but Eleanor’s love for him, would be the determining factor in the success or failure of an. impersonation. Eleanor’s lack of love for Carey was the reason that Cynthia believed that an impersonation would succeed with the husband where it would fail with the lover. Her logic had seemed inescapable to Cynthia at the time she advanced it, but it was a theory, and theories, however sound, have a bad habit of failing to work when speculation is replaced by actuality. Yet, because courage was her dominant characteristic, she looked at him. And the incredulity, the bewilderment, the anger did not come to his eyes. Instead, all the things that should have been there, the things which a bride expects to find in her beloved’s eyes, were in the eyes of Carey. “Headache all right?’’ he asked. “It’s better—a little,” she said. Her hatred for Eleanor grew more intense. How dared any one to put her in this inextricable position? Hatred for herself displaced her resentment toward Carey’s bride. What hypnosis had she, Cynthia, permitted to be worked upon herself that she had become so despicable? (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

The ape-man shouted down at the lion, unable to climb trees. He taunted him in the language of the great apes. Baynes, listening, felt assured a gorilla had captured him. He was stealthily reaching for his revolver when a voice asked in perfectly good English: ‘ Who are you?” Baynes starter} so that he nearly fell from the branch. “Ye gods!" he exclaimed. “Are you a man?!’ He tried to see the features behind the voice. • „ i '

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES ‘

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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“Don’t be afraid,” laughed Korak. “I’m a man —a white man. like you. They call me the Killer,” giving the English translation of the name the apes called him. Then, after a pause, he again questioned Baynes. Bit by bit, he learned the story up to the moment Baynes had fallen Into the ape-mand’s hands. Before they had dene the first gray dawn relieved the darkness. Korak brought water from the river .and fruit to Baynes to eat. : f

—By Martin

fWu-VJe.u_'. AMO (AY LITTLE. "Noow.CrOODie! YOURS. sNooKUfos vjas tseevt-ous, huh? \ &onma oroer owe. V)S_E,t WON’T LET HER- CrET. / FROtt PfsRIS FOR. ..... .. ...!

Copyright. IMP, try Rdf Mr Wt Bnffoaip*. I me. A3 rtfte. numj 77

“I am going to the Swede's camp,” he announced, “and find this girl you speak of. I will come back with her ” And so Korak set out rapidly toward the north, leaving behind the man too weary and wounded to accompany him. Some hours later Korak came out upon the river bank directly across from Malbihn’s camp. He could see men moving about amid the huts. But how was lie to crogs. Not eyen he would dare.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

■ MA3oR. wMUTi A TO' , TMIS SUMM&R ToU-V UOTI VoU TO \ MAi' AMPLAce QR *£&>'** ™-\| r HOM& 2 AM GO-r ÜBAL-TWY -FRiEvi© 1 j To GO BACK TO MV r? OF MIMS iS LoAMIMG f ■tW t circus, lutH 1 mc Mis Houseboat IIUT HeRP, Anl’ Be IfadtiM & F°R -THE SUMMER ?ADE as A MUBIAaI AalJ> I I‘UTEwiP I TH T SULTA/d AROUMP JASO^ 1 ; •“

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

For a moment he thought, then wheeled and speed away Into the jungle, uttering a peculiar cry, shrill and piercing. Finally his ears were rewarded by the sound he craved—the trumpeting of a bull elephant. Tantor broke through the trees, standing with upraised trunk before his friend end master. A low-spoken command and the mighty pachyderm swung Korak to his head and lumbered off, guided by the ape-man's naked fe<g against his hide.

.JUNE 13, 1930

—By Ahern

—By Blosses

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan