Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 73, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 August 1930 — Page 9

ATJG. *, 19.30

OUT OUR WAY

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Hiliil BY KATHLEEN NORRIS COPVRI&HT, 1930, BELL SYNDICATE

CHAPTER NlNE—Continued The gallantry touched her. But Patricia was above the pettiness of the refuge it offered her pride. “It came from him,” she answered honsetly. “Hang him!” Dan said, between his teeth. ‘‘No, mustn't say that,” she objected. “It was only fair, Dan. He cares—you must know it now—he cares for Beatrice.” “What makes you think he does?” the man demanded quickly. "I know him so well. As well as you know Beatrice.” “Then why doesn’t he say so?” “Well ” She flushed. “Possibly because he felt bound to me,” she suggested. Dan winced. “It was as definite as that?” “It was as definite as that?” He stopped the car at the carriage door. Peacock, the unfailing, opened it to a flood of warm light from the hall. "Miss Chesebrough.” said Dan in parting, “you called me by my name a few minutes ago. Will you go on doing that?” Furred, rosy, her face in darkness. hen head aureoled. she leaned toward him from where she stood beside the car. “I’d like to,” she quietly. “Only,” he saw a glimmering smile, “‘only it won’t be encouraging you, will it?” "You cah't” —his senses staggered from the rebuff—“you can't conscientiously do anything that—encourages me?” he asked. “I'm afraid not,” said the exquisite, regretful voice. Suddenly she was all cheerfulness again. “Thank you for a delicious run!” she said. “I mLst fly to dress for Aunt I.ouise's dinner.” CHAPTER TEN FOR a week or two after the eventful Sunday, life seemed to be stale and flat. Beatrice stopped crying; she and Dan and Patricia and Sidney somehow managed to meet one another's eyes, to dine and dance and ride as usual. The days wheeled by. Os them all, Patricia played the prettiest part. She was all dignity, all affectionate concern, all superb self-control. Dan was, as usual, clumsy, eager, inarticulate. Beatrice was quite visibly restless and unhappy. Sidney was obviously wretched, ashamed, uncertain, apologetic. Mrs. Palmer indignantly wondered how a mun could keep a girl in such a state of suspense. Money or no money, protested ihe mother, there should be at least an understanding between them before he went away. So Christmas came, and from Sidney each girl had flowers—roses for Beatrice, violets, as always, for Patricia. Patricia's card held the wards, “God bless you always,” and somehow they rang false to her. and she crushed the card and flung it away. On Beatrice's card was carelessly penciled. “With Sid's love.” Patricia could imagine what the girl read into it. Sidney and his sister were pecking their possessions now; on the first of the year the studio would be empty. Helen was to leave first, and to proceed with h company to New York by slow degrees. Sidney would stay on, perhaps with Harry Page, perhaps **t the club, he told Patricia, for a few days. Dan was planning a year in the i Orient. Patricia, who had kept her room: all this time at Mrs. Rogers’, was to ; move finally to the Castle on the last day of the year. Beatrice —but they all knew what Beatrice hoped. Meanwhile the social year rose, toward its height. New Year's day! was to fall on a Sunday and Mrs. i Throckmorton included the four! ycung people in plans for a small : but select house party at the j Throckmortons’ tiny cabin up in the j great forest of Mountaiuhead. Hi- ; larious plans for woodfires. for a turkey. for fancy dress, were included in the main plan. mm* SIDNEY immediately declined: j Beatrice, who would have been mad with Joy at the mere thought of such a distinction a few month* ago. was half-hearted, and Dan and Patrida. accepting, told each other that It waa merely to be polite. Nobody at the Palmer house was in

. Early on Saturday morning, the last day of the old year, Patricia, walked downtown and stopped at the studio to say good-by to Helena. It was only 9 o'clock, but she knew that Sidney was riding with Beatrice and purposely chose for her call a time when she need not meet him. She climbed the familiar stairs with a pang at her heart for the old happy times that were ended now’, and came upon Helena just as the girl was finishing the last packing. The studio looked bare and deserted already. Cold morning light poured through the north window, and the fire was fed merely by the odds and ends that Helena discarded in her reckless work. She smiled as Patricia came in. “This is the very finish!” she announced. “I’ll be doing the same thing myself in a few minutes,” Patricia said. “You’re going to the Palmers’?” Helena asked. “That’s been a great thing for you, hasn't it?” she asked, as Patricia nodded. “Well, it’s a general break-up, now. You to the Palmers, Sid to New York, I back to the legitimate.” “You leave today?” Patricia said, I astonished. “At 2 o'clock.” Patricia's face was thoughtful. “When do you join Sidney in the New York studio?” * * n HELENA tacked a card upon the closed box, and then gave Patricia a swift glance. “Probably never,” she answered dryly. “You mean”—Patricia’s heart was hammering—"you mean that they ! probably will be married, at once?” | she asked. i “I mean that there is no New York ; studio!” Helena answered, in a halfreckless, half-amused voice. “But— But Sidney was going there,” stammered the other girl. Opening a small suitcase, Helena estimated its contents with narrowed eyes and puckered brow. “My suit —my hat—and my ticket is there*” she murmured. “Sidney is to send for all these boxes. He is to send a taxi for me at 11, and meanwhile there's only my bath—and turning over the keys ” “But—But where is he going?” j Patricia persisted, in a puzzled, almost apprehensive tone. “I really don't know,” Helen anI swered lightly. “Reno, perhaps.” “Reno!” Patric a echoed sharply. “Why should he go there?” “That” said H-len, showing less agitation than slv> felt, “is what I think you ought know.” “Ought to know what?” It was Patricia's voice, but she did not know she had speken. The big, bare, dusty studio seemed to be closing in upon her. “Ought to know that he wants a divorce,” Helena said, with a nervous laughSpeechless, the other woman stared at her. “You ur.ow, when I first came here, in September,” Helena went on, “he told me for the first time of his old friendship with you. It was nothing like—like this new affair with Miss Palmer of course, but it was enough to make him unhappy and ashamed of himself, just the same. I thought at first that it was oerhaps no more than a boy-and-girl affair. Anyway, there j was nothing to te done about it ” “But do you mean to tell me,” i Patricia said suddenly finding her j voice, and anger with it, “that Sidj ney Hutchinson is married?” “That's what I am telling you!” Helena answered quickly. “But—but to whom?” “To me!” Helena answered. "Sid- | ney and I were married three vears ' ago in Paris. Vm him wife!” “I—l don't believe it!” Patricia said at last, in a whisper. * * a THE two had been standing, their faces close together, but now, without moving their eyes from Helena’s eyes, she groped for a chair and sat down. Both girls were pale and breathing hard. Patricia's face expressed only bewilderment and amaze. Helena tried to laugh. * “I thought you ought to know.” she said. “I cant believe it,” Patricia amended the phrase. For she did believadr and even in this first astounded readjustment sfaq began to

—By Williams

understand a hundred things that had puzzled her for a long time. Sid’s affectionate, reluctant vagueness about their marriage, his almost apologetic attitude, the indefiniteness and mystery with which their whole future had oeen deliberately shrouded—all these things were comprehensible now. “I’m no more his sister than you are,” Helena went on. “His sister is married and living in Brooklyn. My name is Perry. Alice Perry, and I only met him when he went to Paris. I was in the same building that he was, down and out with pneumonia and no money, and I was almost starving. “I had gone over there to study music, originally, for the comicopera stage, but I think I would have died if it hadn’t been for Sid! Poor boy, I never should have let him do it. But he was lonely, too; he wouldn’t take less than the real thing, and we were married, “I guess it was legal, although the whole thing was so mixed up and confused; there were papers we never got and ceremonies we never bothered about. I kept house for him and got well, and my family sent me S3O to come home. I went back on the stage, and was doing well, when I happened to be near Deerbridge, and—like a fool—l suddenly thought I would stop and see Sid, and perhaps find out how we could annul the marriage. “So I landed here, and had to come down sick again on his hands —poor Sid! But now I’m leaving him for good and all—” MM9 “T REMEMBER,” Patricia said X slowly. She could perfectly recall the late August day when Sidney telephoned her: “Who do you think turned up, Pat? My small sister. . . . Come around and meet her! She's got a frightful cold, poor kid. and she’s tired to death.” “Your sister!” she had echoed, “i] thought she was married, somewhere in the East.” “She was,” he had answered, “but she’s on the stage now, using her old name. She‘s only going to be here for a few weeks, so don’t say anything about the marital tangle!” And she had duly gone and met the sister; Aunt Hattie had said that she perfectly remembered the Hutchison baby girl, twenty years ago. Someone else had commented that she was entirely unlike Sidney, that was all. 'This—explains tilings!” she said, with a rueful smile. “But the thing is, has he told her?” Helena said anxiously. "Told Beatrice?” Patricia echoed thoughtfully. “I wonder ” “He cares this time!” the other woman admitted. “Oh, yes!” with a great sigh. Patricia added the fact of Sidney’s marriage to the other accepted facts of life. “He cares now,” she agreed, sadly. “And would she run away with him, Pat?” (To Be Continued)

rARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR

Panting, her face convulsed with rage, La sprang to her feet. “Stay, you shall!” she screamed. “La will have you. If she can not have you alive, she will have you dead!” And raising hr r voice to the sun she gave the same hideous shriek that Tarzan had often heard from the apes of the jungle. In answer came a babel of voices from all sides. “Come, guardian priests!” she cried, “Come! The infidels Save profaned the holiest of holies i”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

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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“Come! Wash clean the temple with the blood of the polluters!” Tarzan understood. Stepping quickly to her side, the ape-man seized La in his strong arms, and, though she fought with all the ipad fury of a demon, he soon disarmed her, handing her long sacrificial knife to Werper. Now a horde of the monstrous, little men of Opar streamed into the temple. They were armed •ith bludgeons and knives, their courage fortified with fanatical hate and frenzy.

—By Martin

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Werper was terrified, but Tarzan eyed the foe with proud disdain. Slowly he moved toward one of the exits. A burly priest barred his way; behind him came a score of others. Tarzan felled him like an ox. The shrieking, dancing mob pressed closer. Now Tarzan grabbed the long knife from Werper and brandished it threateningly. At sight of the sacrificial blade the Oparians scattered like leaves before a gale. Some strange Superstition must surround that polished blade J

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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TREES AND DODGING SENTRIES^Wfc jjaaptep, AM L . Ciiao'BrnA

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Through the crowd of yelling priests and fallen votaries, Tarzan and Werper made their unmolested way outside the temple court, Tarzan still brandishing the jeweled and holy weapon. The Belgian’s eyes went wide as they passed through the room of the seven pillars of gold. To the ape-man all this wealth appeared to mean nothing. On the pair went, chance leading them bind avenue which lay between the oi half ruins and the inner city walLltfl . J

PAGE 9

—By Ahern:

—By Blossetf

—By Crane

—By Small