Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 37, Indianapolis, Marion County, 23 June 1930 — Page 10

PAGE 10

.OUT OUR WAY

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I TwinlMves COPY RIGHT * IBY ARTHUR SOMERS KOCHE -COLUE^S__W£EK^_Jj

SYNOPSIS Cvnthia Brown, chorus girl, was comDletelv at loss. She did not know where to look for Eleanor Sanver. heiress, and her former suitor, the attempted-suicide Phil Jennings. She knew that Dean Carev was waiting in the new hbuse he had prepared for his bride: where she. Eleanor's double, had been posing as newly wed, but she must find Eleanor first. In desperation she taxied to her humble flat which she occupied, thinking that bv some possibility Elearnor and her wounded lover might be hiding there. On her arrival there was no sign of the fugitives and the distracted girl sank on her chair in complete bewilderment. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN IT was reasoning that advanced her only slightly on the road to decision; nevertheless it convinced her that Eleanor had not run away through sheer callousness. If she could convince herself that Carey’s wife simply had decided to go off with her lover and let the world go hang, then there would be no need for self-argument. But suppose some unforeseen circumstance forbade Eleanor to telephone? Cynthia couldn’t imagine what circumstance would prevent Eleanor from getting in touch with her substitute. But this morning Cynthia could not possibly nave imagined any circumstance that would have caused Eleanor to leave her husband, and Cynthia to join Dean. Perhaps something equally bizarre had arisen to force Eleanor to act as she was acting. i She must, before she went a bit farther in her thoughts, decide whether Eleanor had deliberately left her in the lurch. She shook her head. If she had been bound to Eleanor, so that she had been compelled to do things the memory of would make her blush for the'vrest of her life, then the bond was mutual. Eleanor would not desert her. Could she, then, desert Eleanor because the latter's need seemed even greater than it had been at first? Helplessly she again shook her head. Because the mad and wicked adventure promised to run into days i instead of hours, could she abandon it? She walked to the mirror End stared at herself. B The glass reflected a person who Sad had no existence yesterday, a Herson who had given herself to the Hans of another woman’s husHnd. who had met the fervor of a Hdegroom with an ardency that his own. was a strange person at whom BHBchia looked. There was a firmHess to the mouth that she never Biad seen there before. Was this Ithe firmness of one who would do ■wrong and do it with deliberation Er was it the firmness of one who Eould do right no matter what the pressure? a a a SHE turned away from the mirror: a sudden sick sensation attacked her. What was the use of woldering if she were good or bad? Shi knew and no longer would .denr to herself the knowledge that she^was going to drift on the tide of events. She would return to Carey. She would save Eleanor. Bitterly, she asked herself, who would save Cynthia? She knew that she would save herself. But at what hurt to Dean and at what anguish to herself, who would rather die than injure Eleanor's husband! She stood up and looked around the room; shabby as it is, there were little daintinesses that spoke of herself. She said goodby to that self which had inhabited this room and somehow made it seem unsordid. Sh? bad left it this afternoon bent on a mission which, after all, wicked though it might have been, was in the nature of a lark. Now she was turning a deceit that might have proved harmless into something fraught with possible agony and dishonor to three people. Four, for besides herself and Eleanor and Dean, there was Mr. Sanver, who had wanted to be called Daddy Tom and whose heart would break if he ever learned the truth of today’s events. Today’s events? Tomorrow’s! But she wouldn't look ahead a moment, much less a day. She had made her great decision: she would go through with this impersonation l until Eleanor released her from I tn.v obligation to do so. She descended, once again by the letairs, lest her apparel attract the votice of the elevator boy, to the [wbby. On the way down she smiled H her precaution. The boy had ■ken her upstairs; she had jjeen Ijff o excited for caution then, Klfo&sibly he, like the clerk iHhe

Burlingame, had wondered at her changes of costume. Still, it did no harm to be careful, even though she had been careless before. And, because humor never deserted her for long, she laughed at the idea of caution in little things when she was being so reckless in greater matters. nan HOWEVER, she walked east to Broadway before she entered a taxi. Ten minutes later the servant who had let her out admitted her to the home where Carey had thought he was bringing his wife. She went upstairs and gained her own room. Strangely, she looked upon it as her own room, and realized how easily she slipped into Eleanor's identity, she warned herself to be eternally watchful. Mary, the maid, almost instantly came to her. The quick hope that Eleanor might have telephoned while she was gone was banished by Mary. No, the telephone had not rung. What dress would her mistress care to choose for dinner? Easily though she took Eleanor's room as her own, she did not know the items of the other girl’s wardrobe. She let the maid do the selecting, and then, conscious that she was more beautiful than she had ever been In her life, she responded to the butler’s announcement that dinner was served. Carey met her in the living-room, a floor below. He said nothing about her absence from the house, but walked confidently toward her. She evaded him, and at the hurt look in his eyes she merely shrugged. His lips pursed in slight surprise; there was something coolly contemptuous in her manner. Incredible, after her sweet surrender of an hour ago, though her attitude was, it nevertheless warned him. He offered her his arm, and when she Ignored it the hurt in his eyes deepened. Silently they walked into the dining-rbom. As the grapefruit was served he spoke to her. “You went out for a walk?” There was no petulance In. his tones. If her avoidance of his touch hurt—and she knew it did— he was not offended that she had left the house without notifing him. Evidently—and this would be of inestimable aid to her—he was accustomed to oddities in the behavior of Eleanor. “My headache.” she said. “Fresh air relieve it?” he asked. The hurt was gone from his eyes now. A continued headache explaine her aloofness. She shrugged again. There was something insolent now iii the gesture. “It’s better,” she replied. Her tone was that of bored and almost annoyed indifference. Dean’s eyebrows raised, then lowered as he remembered the presence of the servant. a a a IT was as ghastly a meal as Cynthia ever had experienced. For Dean’s sake she hoped that the butler was not more acute than most of his kind. She wanted to hurt Dean, wished him to think her indifferent and rude, but she hoped that the butler would not read the subtleties of her voice and expression. To every remark made by Dean she vouchsafed monosyllabic replies. To every tenderness of tone or expression she returned an almost contemptuous answer in look or voice. Unless he spoke, there was silence in the room save for the soft slithering of the butler. But at last coffee had been served in the living room, the butler had closed the doors upon them, and they were alone. Cynthia rose abruptly to her feet. She looked down upon Dean, who pushed aside the little table on which stood the coffee things, and rose also. He held out his arms to her. and the pleading of his gesture was accentuated by the fact that he didn't ask heV to come to him. “Good night,” she said. As she spoke, she started for the door. He found his voice: “You aren’t leaving me? Eleanor, what’s the matter?” She turned and faced him. “Nothing's the matter, except that I've come to my senses.” “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. _ _ ,

—By Williams

It was easier than she had dreamed. This man had pride, and his pride would be her protection. “I mean that I’ve been guilty of a great injustice to you. When I left the house an hour ago I had no intention of returning.” The fact that this statement had truth in it, though not the truth that she would have him accept, lent sincerity to her voice. “But, Eleanor, just before you left—” Unquestionably Eleanor had been a strangely aloof fiancee. Dean was used to perversities on the part of Eleanor. But man will accept reluctance when he is engag ed. Now, remembering how this girl had yielded to his caress this afternoon, confidence conquered hurt diffidence. He advanced masterfully toward her. “If you touch me,” she told him, “I'll leave now.” He stopped midway toward her. “But Eleanor,” he protested, “you love me. This afternoon ” She hated herself for the contempt she put into her tone. “I was sorry for you,” she told him. “I thought that maybe I could love you. Bilt now I know I can’t. And I could hate you so easily.” She had not been wrong. He was not only proud, but he was also a gentleman. His voice was as cold as her own. “I shall not make you hate me,” he said. a a a T TIS gesture of dismissal had a finality that was quite overwhelming. In her own room, the maid dismissed, she visualized that gesture again. It seemed to say that he would hate her. But if he hated her, how costly a triumph! Sobbing herself to sleep that night, her face buried in a pillow lest the sound of her weeping be overheard by Mary or another of the servants, Cynthia thought that she had passed through the great crises. She did not know that another event would come along later to make this one insignificant. For even as historians find that contemporaries magnify the lesser and minimize the greater, so the student of his own life is apt to find that he has done the same thing. Yet, even as she told herself that she could not endure any further continuance of this deceit, she knew that her self-assurances were untrue. Having gone so far, she knew that she could not withdraw until Eleanor gave her leave to do so. She dreaded the morning as she had dreaded the evening. To face the man whom she "had deceived and hurt and whom she loved, seemed something beyond her strength. What she did from now on would be done after long reflection and, knowing this, her self-contempt was greater. Also, she feared that something would happen to declare her deception to Dean. (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

The old half-caste had just dragged Meriem into the rear chamber as Korak's knife slit a six-foot opening in the tent wall. The lithe figure of a jungle Adonis sprang through upon the astonished visions of the inmates. Meriem saw and knew him the instaift he appeared and her heart sang with pride and joy. “Korak!” she cried. “Save me! * “Meriem!” Korak fairly shouted the wf|§ in Ins amazement at finding she was the cajJA

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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The Killer's fingers closed upon the throat of the hideous Ali. His knife plunged deep and the Arab was put out of harm’s way. Korak turned toward Meriem and at the same instant a blood-stained, dishevelled apparition leaped Into the tent. “Morrison!” cried the girl. Korak turned, to see the man he had left in the tree-shelter. About to take Meriem in his arms, Korak hesitated. this fellow to her, and site

—By Martin

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A wave of misery swept over the ape-man. Already from without came alarming sounds. Men were runing toward the tent. There was no time to be lost, “Quick!” cried Korak to Baynes, who scarce yet realized whether he was facing a friend or foe. “Take her to the palisades. Here is my rope; with it you can scale the wall and make your escape.’’ “But Meriem. ,“I

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Meriem would have demurred, but the Killer, seizing them both, hpstled them through the slit wall and out into the shadows beyond. “Now run for it!’’ he commanded, and turned to meet his foes. The ape-man fought well—fought as he never bad before; but the odds were too great for victory, though he won what he most desired—time for the Englishman to escape with Meriem. he was overwhelmed by numbers, bound, and carjj Sheik's tent. .gLagni

.JUNE 23,193(|

—By Aherri

-—By Blosser

—By; Crane

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