Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 33, Indianapolis, Marion County, 18 June 1930 — Page 11

JUNE 18,1930

OUT OUR WAY

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TwiifWives COPV RIGHT * BY ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE COLLIER'S WEEKLY

SYNOPSIS Eleanor Sanver. heiress, telephones that she can not return to her weddinc reception for some time as her lover has become delirious antj the doctor says he may die at any time. Cynthia Browri protests that she can not keep up the masquerade any longer, as she is afraid Eleanor's husband of a few hours will penetrate the disguise. She is drawn to the bridegroom by the chivalry and honor of the deceived husband and bitterly reproaches Eleanor, but the latter directs Cynthia to go to the new house that the bridegroom has prepared and promises that within an hour or so Eleanor will arrive and relieve Cvnthia of her position. Cynthia decides to go with the bridegroom to the new house. CHAPTER THIRTEEN BUT the entrance to that home, though only a minute or two distant, was a matter of the future. The present, the immediate moment, engrossed her. She shrank into a corner. As Dean dropped into the seat beside her her body grew rigid. But her fearful anticipations were instantly reassured. This was no gauche boy, whose rough caresses must be fought off. Eleanor had said that he would be chivalrous, but Carey was more than that: he possessed a delicate tact. His hand, however, closed slightly upon hers. With a convulsive movement she withdrew her fingers from his clasp. At the hurt surprise in his eyes she professed that a pin had pricked her. “I didn't know? girls used pins any more,” he said. "How, much you have to learn about girls,” she told him. “And what a joy it will be to learn.” But he didn't make any move to repossess himself of her hand. She wondered if he had been conscious cf her repugnance. Yet how could he be conscious of something that didn't exist? Repugnance at herself, distaste at the despicable thing she was doing, had caused her to withdraw' her fingers, but the action had not even been faintly motivated by aversion toward him. No, it was his instinctive delicacy which forbade him to take more than was offered. The moment had been fraught with danger, but the car now drew up at the curb and the moment W'as past. The chauffeur threw open the door and they alighted. Before them was a house of red brick, trimmed with white. Not even asphalt pavements, the fact that it was one of a block, the roar of the elevated on Third avenue, could rob the facade of its quaint homeliness. Take away the houses whose walls abutted, put a lawn with a few trees around it, and one would have the sort of colonial home still to be found in New England villages. One could live here as remotely as in some town a hundred miles from the roaring toc-alive city which has reduced home to a place where one goes when everything else is closed. Cynthia, despite her fears, and despite the fact that this home was not for her, could not repress a little cry of delight, “You like it?" he asked. A servant had thrown open the front door, and Cynthia exclaimed again at sight of a mahogany stair rail. A little reception room caught her eye. In it was furniture that reminded her of her old home in Ohio, that had been filled with tables and chairs that had been brought from New England before the Civ'll war and that had been then half a century old. a a a IF THE inter*or decorators had been guided by Eleanor, then this desire and taste that Eleanor had shown constituted another point of definite similarity between Lhem. From room to room Carey followed her. He made few comments, but a blind man would have known his happiness. And she was conscious of a possessive air about him that, strangely, was not as disturbing as it should have been. And ever and again recognition of this attitude of his brought color to her cheeks. On the floor above the diningroom. two flights of stairs above the street, they <tme upon a room exactly ike Eleanor's room in her father’s house. What v him had prompted Eleanor to copy her room at home? Cynthia wondered at this, but only idly, because now that possessive intimacy of Dean’s was becoming more pervasive.

“Let’s look at my apartment,” he j suggested. She went with him to the r of the house. He had a bedro and beyond it a study. Its windows looked out upon beautiful gardens. The whole block had been turned into one inclosed lawn, with fountains, playhouses for children, even croquet courts. Where once had been hideous wooden fences separating each yard from the other, where alleys had existed for the use of tradesmen delivering household supplies, now w T as a country estate in miniature. The houses that fronted on Sixtyfifth street had been remodeled so that their backs were verandaed, so that they had screen galleries. It is hard, away from either river that borders Manhattan, to find the effect of spaciousness in New York. Even that part of the Greenwich Village w'hich has been adapted to the modern desire for luxurious beauty seems narrow and cramped. But here wealth had dons that thing which seems to justify Ihe existence of riches: it had rendered a thing that had been ugly into a thing of beauty. ana CYNTHIA had seen only the ugly side of Manhattan. She had responded, of course, to the magnificent overtowering buildings. She had been in the art museum and had had occasional glimpses of the glittering recstaurants and hotels. But she had seen nothing intimate, nothing serene in the city until now. And so. overcome by the restful beauty of the inclosure, she turned rapturous eyes to Carey. “I never dreamed that New York held anything as lovely as this!” she exclaimed. He stared at her, puzzlement on his face. “Why, we dined night before last with the Alstons, right across the lawn,” he said. "We took a walk around, and I was frightened lest my own excitement make you suspicious that we were going to live here.” She caught herself up instantly. “Perhaps I’m seeing it with different eyes now,” she said. She hated herself for the implication of her words. But there had not been time in which to pick and choose. Yet, as she told herself this in extenuation of her coquetry, she knew that she was attempting to deceive herself. She knew that there was something about this grave man, whose gravity could so suddenly and delightfully relax into gavety, that irresistibly impelled to flirtation. Yes, flirtation was the word. Flirtation connoted a touch of vulgarity, and vulgarity was the basis of any exchange of sentiment between herself and Carey. Be- : cause her very being here was a i vulgarity, and i-nything that proi ceeded from her presence hejre could be no higher than its source. She would have retracted the j statement had retraction been pos- ! sible. As it wasn’t possible, as it was not conceivable that she should withdraw so mild a compliment, she j tried instantly to turn the conversation into matters which were less dangerously near to sentiment. “I think it's selfish of you to ! choose the most delightful room 1 for your study,” she said. “I think so myself. That's why ! I chose it,” he laughed. "Do you think that the admis- | sion of selfishness excuses it in any | way?" she demanded. "But don’t you see that if I made | this room m'y study, you'd spend a lot of time here?” he replied. Before she realized what she was saying, she was retorting in the same mood: "Couldn’t you rely on your own charms to draw me to your study no matter where it was situated?” a a a THEN, as though she had invited him at last, his arms were about her. As his lips touched hers she knew that what she needed to fear was not him, but herself. The da ger in the impossible situation was to be found in her own emotions, not in his. If he was the spark, she was tinder of the most inflammable kind. As though she were two distinct personalities, sh • reacted to his embrace. One pait of her seemed to detach itself from his arms, seemed to view the caressing couple with incredulous disdain. “You can’t do a thing like this,” U* detached Cynthia seemed to

—By Williams

i say. “He’s another woman's husband. In a few minutes you’ll be gone, and you’ll never be able to see him again. And you won’t want to see him, because he’s nothing a; all to you.” But the Cynthia crushed against Dean was unaware of, or at least was unheeding of, the saner self that offered advice. Curiously, though she was of the petting generation, she had never kissed a man before. Boys had snatched kisses from her, but since she had left Ohio no man had been intimate enough with her to attempt emulation of her juvenile escorts. And even those boys of what seemed so long ago had usually shamefacedly desisted after one abortive attempt. Not that she had any Victorian ideas on the subject of kissing. She knew that other girls of her age indulged in rather promiscuous flirtation, and the knowledge was in nowise shocking to her. If girls found fun in that sort of thing, it was all very well as far as Cynthia was concerned. And she never had turned away from any personable youth with that oversexed horror which used to pass for outraged virtue. She merely had felt a proper pride in the gifts she might be able to offer and did not intend to scatter them cheaply around. Also, no man had ever stirred her. a a a BUT now she was stirred, shaken to depths that she had not realized existed W'ithin her. Not merely her lips responded to Carey’s kiss, but her very spirit seemed to blend with his. Even as her conscience chided her, she clung closer to him. What did it all matter, anyway? She’d never see this man again after today; that other self which scolded her spoke truly here. But when that other self said that she would not want to see him again, that other self lied. Want to sc. him again? The rest of her life would be spent in wishing for him, in imagining this kiss and in revitalizing it with the anaemic substance of memory. And it was not a physical thing, this sudden passion with which his kiss had endowed her. Or what if it was? The physical, after all, is the key that unlocks the spirit. What did anything matter except the moment? The strangest concatenation of cicumstances that could possibly be imagined had brought her into this man’s arms. Why should she rebel against the culmination of the chain of events? She was doing no harm to Dean. This moment might prove to be the only happy one of his marriage. If she was harming herself, then she would suffer the later consequences. As for Eleanor, that girl should have foreseen that Dean's impetuosity would not always be held in leash. (To Be Continued!

THE SON OF TARZAN

>*A by I4[lr Burroa C fa. AC rights ntrmA

Meriem listened to the fiery young Arab in bewilderment as he talked in low, persuasive tones. He it was who had stolen from her the little packet she had found in the Swede’s camp. Abdul Kamak was no fool. At once he had noted the likeness of his captive that day. to thtf child in the faded photograph. But why was the sheik's daughter clothed in the garments of the unbeliever? Then he had read the yellowed jvspaper clippings.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

WASHINGTON TUEBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

(WANT tAE. To, HELP Mo-BUT i'U-TELLVA vUHAT V* CAN VUTH /DO - 3LIE.T GOT A Wlß<=- <FROM\ TH' GrAROeN, VUAe/S MOTHER. SAV\N* SHE'S

MOM’N POP

With some difficulty he translated the story printed in French. Abdul Kamak had been to Paris. With one of his desert followers he had gone there and he had unproved his time learning the customs and some of the language of his conquerors. As he :ame to understand the clipping's context his eyes went wide. Then in his mind, be formed a plan cunningly calculated to enrich himself. Now he was attempting to carry it out.

—By Martin

- AM' SHE LL BE. ON*TW ‘ y 7.(o? TRAIN AN’ ( HAVEN’T ......... , I \TftRTER. THE. : —,

With fervent passion he poured forth in Arabic his torrent of words: “From the moment my eyes beheld you they told me my heart must ever be your servant. I ask that you trust me. Come with me and we will go where my fa.her is a sheik mightier than yours. I love you —let me take you away from him. I will take you whether you will or no for I too, hate the sheik " “You hate the sheik?” came a grim voice from ’behind them.

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(NOW CAN r TRUST YOU TO VIHERE. DOE.S Stfe. tAEET HER ATTU’ STATION UV&? Mr viov

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Both turned to see the sheik standing near. ’ “Yes,” shouted Abdul Kamak. “I hate you!” As he spoke he sprang forward, felled the chief with a blow and dashed across the village where his horse stood saddled. Leaping to it, he made for the gates. The sheik, merely stunned, staggered up, shouting to his followers to stop the escaping Arab. But with a wild whoop and with reins living loose, the son of the desert spurred otL p^toegaua.

PAGE 11

—By Ahern

—By Blosserj

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan