Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 57, Indianapolis, Marion County, 16 July 1930 — Page 11

JULY 16, 1930.

OUT OUR WAY

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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN •’l' M gl'xl of that,” said the clerk. X “She’s been here a couple of ■weeks, and ain't left her room but once. EKjn't eat nothing, and the chambermaid says she looks like she's been crying all the time.” He was an aflable youth, with a natural gift for gossip. He leaned upon his elbows and prepared himself for a few minutes of good, wholesome chatter. The Dennison’s clientele was composed of sober, staid folk, who did nothing but eat, sleep and go forth each morning to their various businesses. “She expects us, and well go right up.” The clerk struck a bell. A Negro boy, whose fists dug in his eyes, appeared. "Show these people up to Room 311.” ordered the clerk. Anger was the predominant feeling in Cynthia's heart as Sanver knocked upon the door of Eleanor’s room. But one glance at the girl who lay upon the bed within banished resentment. She could feel only pity for her double. They were r.o longer doubles. That spiritual twinship, which had been to Cynthia even more amazing than the absolute fidelity of their physical resemblance, still existed, but the bodily likeness was gone. Feature for feature and line for line, they were still similar, but something had happened to the ensemble of Eleanor which made her a different person. Perhaps it was horror at the thing she had done, or perhaps it was illness. Whatever it was, the blooming cheeks had lost their color, and the lovely gray eyes were robbed of their brilliance. Then Eleanor was hidden from Cynthia's sight as Sanver, sobs choking him, stumbled across the room to gather up his daughter in his still powerful arms. Cynthia fought against her own j tears. She did not know it, but j there is nothing more poignant than reconciliation between child and parent. Not that reconciliation exactly described this scene. It was more than a forgiveness or a plea for forgiveness. It was an utter breaking down of reserve, a complete submergence of all thought in a tide of paternal and filial emotion. Sanver held his baby in his arms, rocked back and forth with her. crooned over her. For she was again his baby. For the tragedy of age is that our children grow older, not that we do. But finally the r emotions spent themselves. Eleanor beckoned to Cynthia. "You hate me? she feebly asked. mum OFTEN, in the last few weeks. Cynthia had felt hatred for this girl who now lay upon the bed. Instantly, each time she had banished hatred, but now she knew that she need never order it from her thoughts again, or. strangely, could she feel jealousy toward Eleanor. When Eleanor had been away, and Cynthia had contemplated Eleanor's cnt-ancc Into the arms of Dean. Cynthia had been jealous. But not any longer. If Eleanor became truly Dean’s wife, and if Dean should lavish upon Eleanor the love which he had stored up for Cynthia, even then the latter could not be jealous. She could die of grief, but not of jealousy. ’ Hate you? Never!” she made rcp!v. “My daughters hate each other? Never in this wcrld!” Sanver's voice boomed hollowly. Eleanor looked at her father. “I knew that's how you'd feel if you ever knew that there were two of us.” Sanver's jubilance did not ring true to Cynthia. “Os course I feel that wav. When Cynthia told me. the other day. that she was not my own daughter. I knew I loved her as though she were. Some day. when all our troubles are over, we'll all sit down and trace pedigrees. "11l bet that some Sanver. some ancestor of mine, changed his name to Brown. Or maybe the Browns and San vers intermarried. But who wants to explain a miracle, anyway? Nature has to reproduce the same specimen once In a while. My daughters? Both of you. And neither of you is ever going to leave me again.” Eleanor smiled feebly'. “Dear old Daddy Tom. Not a ward of scolding yet,” “And never will be,” said Sanver.

“But Dean?” Eleanor's eyes held puzzlement. ‘‘YOU say Cynthia told you. Daddy Tom? Does Dean know', too?” She looked at Cynthia and once again Cynthia's cheeks burned. "No.” said Cynthia weakly. “Well, he’ll have to know now,” said Eleanor. “Here, here!” cried Sanver. "We’re not to think about Dean now. We’ll get you home ” Eleanor interrupted him with a gesture. “I'm not going back with you. Daddy Tom. I couldn’t do that. I've been dishonest and wicked enougn. but I'm not going to permit him to be deceived any longer. And anyway, nothing matters very much now’. When I tell you all that I’ve gone through ” “You're not to talk now,” said Sanver In alarm. an * CYNTHIA knew now why his voice sounded hollow. He had read his daughters countenance more quickly than she had been able to read it. Weakness, utter emotional exhaustion, were legible there. “A little talk won't hurt me,” said Eleanor. “And even if it did hurt. I’d have to speak just the same. I must tell you. Daddy Tom, and you too, Cynthia.” “Go on, Eleanor,” he said. “How much have you told him? Everything?” asked Eleanor. “Then you know all about my meeting Cynthia, my hearing from Phil, my finding that he had tried to kill himself, and my persuading Cynthia to take my place. “I suppose," and her eyes met Cynthia's, “that you hated and despised me when I didn't ring you up after that last time. But the doctor who was attending Phil frightened me. He guessed, somehow, that I had money. He told me, and I believed him, that Phil could be put in jail for attempting suicide. He said that the clerks in the Burlingame, w’bere Phil had been living, would tell the police, so we took Phil away. We put him in a sort of hospital that this doctor owned. I couldn't leave him. I wouldn't even telephone you. “Phil wanted me with him every second. He swore he’d tear the bandages frem him if I lsft him. And with every passing minute it was more certain that he couldn't live. I felt that if I left him I’d be his murderer. “Oh. I thought of you. Cynthia. But I knew that if there were no other thing for you to do you'd tell Dean who you wen.. And then Phil died.” The very fact that she made the last statement so quietly, so unemotionally, tut added to its tragic quality. Sanver broke the silence that ensued. "When did he die?” he asked. “The next day; the day after my marriage.” said Eleanor. “But that was weeks ago,” her father exclaimed. nan IKNOW it.” said Eleanor simply. She had conquered all hysteria now, and lay back quietly on the bed. “But I couldn't leave him then, when he was all alone, friendless. And I was afraid that if I came to you. Daddy, for help, you’d not let me go back to Phil. And if he had needed me when he was living. surely he needed me now when he was dead. Why, Daddy, he didn't even have any money. They'd have buried him in potter's field, thrown him into a grave as carelessly as though he were some wornout an’nial. But I knew that you'd think he was no good, that he didn’t deserve any better. But he had died for me. Some people may not think it's brave to die like that, to die because you aren't brave enough to live and suffer. But I feel differently. “And. anyway, even if I thought him cowardly. I’d only love him more. Because it was my cowardice that made him a coward. If I'd been brave enough to go to him four years ago. in spite of the fact that I didn't think he wanted me. how happy we’d both have been. And I wouldn't have made you unhappy, Daddy, nor Dean.” She looked at Cynthia. “Nor you,” she added. “But it's all over now. Don’t think I'm reproaching you. Daddy. I don't think people ever should be blamed for anything they do. We d$ the best we can and if it Isn't

—By Williams

someone clse's best, that isn’t our fault. “But, you see, I’d deserted him w’hile he lived; I surely couldn’t desert him now. I had money. You’d given me a lot of cash, Daddy, the morning I was married. “So I bribed the doctor to silence. “He rendered a false death certificate, attended to all the details, and then I took Phil's body out to lowa, where he'd come from. I said that I w T as his widow, told his relatives that, and gave myself another name. I took your name, Cynthia, as my maiden name. I didn’t think you'd mind.” B tt tt “T)UT why didn't you come back X 5 to me then?” asked Sanver. “Why should I?” asked Eleanor. “What difference did it make what I did? I thought of you, Cynthia, and I knew that I was being terribly unfair to you, as well as to Dean. But when you’re about to die, nothing matters very much.” “What do you mean by about to die?” Sanver's voice was husky. Eleanor looked at him tenderly. “I think I was only born to make you unhappy. Daddy Tom. Mother died because of me. I've given you very little in return for all you’ve done for me, and now I’m going to make you unhappy again by dying.” “Don't talk nonsense,” blurted Sanver. The girl on the bed shook her head. “It isn’t nonsense. Ask Cynthia; she kows.” Cynthia did know. Inexplicable as her understanding was, it nevertheless was understanding. As though it were herself who was about to die, she knew that Eleanor spoke the truth. And great tears of compassionate love stood in her eyes. Hatred was forever gone and jealousy could not be. “I know it was wrong,” Eleanor continued. "But I’d suffered so much that I didn't think I could stand any more. I came back to New York, took a little apartment, still calling myself Mrs. Jennings, and waited for death. “I only hoped it wouldn't make me wait too long. And then, a w’eek ago, walking on the street, the doctor who had attended Phil saw me and spoke to me. He wanted money. “Don't ask me his name, Daddy Tom, because you’d only punish him. And I don't want any one punished because of anything they have done toward me. My own cowardice of four years ago is to blame for everything.” (To Be Continued) RESTORE JOHNSON HOME Cabin of Former President Is Undergoing Repairs. RALEIGH. N. C., July 16.—The city of Raleigh now is improving the home of Andrew Johnson, seventeenth President of the United States, after removing it to Pullen park. The old log cabin gradually will be restored to its original state. Old fashioned palings have been built around the house, which is now a center of attraction for tourists.

TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR

Tarzan tossed upon his bed of grasses, sleepless. for an hour. The moans and coughings of the big cats, the myriad noises of the lesser forest animals, mysterious jungle murmurs another mans ear could never hear, all were magic music to the ape-man. They fanned the savage flame in the breast of this savage English Lord until at last he could resist the urgings within him no longer

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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MOM’N POP

Noiseless as a wraith, Tarzan rose, vaulted the boma wall, swung silently into a great tree and was gone. For a time in sheer exuberance of animal spirit he raced swiftly along, swinging perilously across wide spans from one jungle tree to another. Goro. the moon, shone down on him as he risked death in each frail branch high up amid the upper terrace where he swayed.

—By Martin

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Then he went on more slowly and with greater stealth and caution, for now Tarzan of the Apes was seeking a kill. Down to the ground he came, stopping from time to time to put his nose close to the earth. He sought and found a wide game trail and at last his nostrils were rewarded by the scent of fresh meat. Tarzan's mouth watered and a. low growl escaped his lips.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Up wind he followed the elusive spoor until he came upon Bara the deer, standing alert at the edge of a moon-bathed clearing. Noiselessly, Tarzan crept through the trees until he was directly over the animal. In the ape-man's right hand he clutched his hunting knife. Just for an instant he poised above the still unsuspecting Eara anti then he launched himself downward upon the sleek back.

PAGE 11

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan