Indianapolis Times, Volume 48, Number 13, Indianapolis, Marion County, 26 March 1936 — Page 25

MARCH 26, 1936

-Today's True Story BROADMINDED By Maude Williamson

BILL lIINES did not see his wife watching him, via the long mirror in the closet door. Bill was much too occupied with the tying of a brand new cravat. Pale blue, of all colors, sprinkled with saucy little gray dots. Just too, too cute, Amanda thought savagely. She yanked a slender crepe

dinner dress over hips which were not so slender as they had been a few years ago . .. “You’re all set up about having the Lairds here tonight, aren't you?” she Inquired. “We Hineses have been going places for fair, since the Laird kidnaping case. Sort of put a feather in your cap, didn’t it?” “I wouldn’t say that,” Bill answered, with becoming modesty. “After Ml, there were a dozen other fellows cn the case. I was only one of the lawyers.” Amanda sniffed. “The only one Papa and Mama Laird seem to have taken under their wing, though.” Her plump, pretty face was troubled. “They probably do great things for you, Bill—if you didn’t happen to be married. Their beautiful daughter, Muriel ” Bill swung from before the mirror crossed the room. “Hey, what’s eating you. old girl? It’s natural that parents would feel grateful to anybody who helped bring back their child.” “Their son was kidnaped,” Bill said, “not the beautiful Muriel.” Bill laughted. He did not have chance to answer, for at that moment there came a tap on the bedroom door. u “TT'S Sadie,” Amanda muttered. X “She's probably discovered at this hour that she forgot to order the squabs. That woman nearly drives me mad!’” But Sadie had not forgotten the squabs. When Amanda opened the door, Sadie's chocolate face was a study in beguilement and despair. “Land's sake. Miss Amanda, you know what that grocery boy done done? He didn't bring us no butter. And there ain’t more’n a quarter of a pound in the house.” Amanda's mouth tightened. Exasperation threatened to destroy her freshly applied face. In silence she glared et Sadie; then turned to her husband. “You’ll have to jump in the car. Bill, and get some at that delicatessen on Fulton-st. Forgetting butter—at 7 o’clock! They’ll be here in half an hour!” To Sadie she said nothing. What was the use? The old alibi of the grocery boy had been worked overtime, when of course it was Sadie herself who had failed to put butter on the list. One of these days Sadie would find herself fired, in spite of six years’ faithful service. A woman, especially one with real problems, couldn’t be expected to tolerate absentmindedness forever! “Don’t forget the claret, Sadie. And see that you serve lo? sugar with the coffee. Rememuer last time.” "Ycs’m. I won’t forget a thing, Miss Amanda.” Anri, oddly enough, she did not. The Laird family—father, mother, son and daughter—found the young Hineses delightful hosts. Every one seemeri in high spirits, and you never woind have guessed, seeing the relish with which the Lairds enjoyed Amanda's simple dinner, that their own home was one of the city’s show places. Nor would you have guessed that only a few months ago young Wally Laird had been front-page news in every paper in the country, or that every effort had been made to keep Muriel Laird’s exquisite features out of those same papers. tt tt tt THEY were a paradoxical family; or so they seemed to Amanda. She wondered why the kidnaping was never mentioned during the evening. It would have been the natural thing, it seemed to her, since their gratitude to Bill had been so apparent. Why else did they call him up all the time? Why did they pay him a retainer’s fee? It was exactly five minutes to 10 when the searing truth dawned upon Amanda. Sadie had just removed the coffee things from the living room, when Amanda—who had been talking to Mrs. Laird—looked up to speak to Bill. He was not in the room. “Yes, I always enjoy Lunt and Fontaine,” Mrs. Laird Was saying. And Amanda saw Bill. Saw him talking quietly to Muriel Laird, out in the hall where the light was so dim you couldn’t recognize your owm first cousin. Muriel was laughing, her curly head tilted back ... A hazy white figurine beside Bill’s big silhouette. "I think it is wonderful that they stay married—and happy,” Mrs. Laud observed wittily. “But that’s because they are both broadminded people, 1 suppose. That’s really awfully important in marriage. Don’t you think so?” “Oh yes, awfully.” Amanda stammered, having completely lost track of Lunt and Fontaine. Bill and Muriel Laird were coming into the room now’, their voices still muted. Bill was chuckling, and straightening that silly blue necktie. . . . Which made it hard for Amanda to concentrate on Mrs. Laird. But she managed, “Oh yes, one has to be broadminded these days. That is. a wife must.” She hoped Bill heard her. Mr. Laird stopped puffing the 15cent cigar Bill had supplied. His genial face beamed. “You say that like you meant it, young lady. And you’re right. A man needs a wife who—understands.” U tt a AMANDA W’as to remember that speech. She liked old Mr. Laird. Liked them all, really. Or she would have, if Muriel Laird had been a bit less beautiful and a bit more—well, chummy. But the 20-year-old heiress seemed to have been bitten by some secretive bee which had stung them all during the agonizing kidnaping episode. It was one thing to be broadminded, Amanda reflected in the month which followed, but quite another to find yourself the only member of a sextette who never got beneath the surface of things. The opera, books, Russia, anew style of hair dress ... Os such things was her contact with the Lairds. But Bill? Oh, Bill was like one of the family; Bill was practically adopted. Morning, noon and night, there would be business with some member of the Laird clan. It got to be more than Amanda

could stand. More than she had any intention of standing. Her decision was made quickly, when it was finally made. Quietly. At 4 o’clock one winter afternoon. She would be very dignified; prove what broadmindedness really meant. Never mind the cost . . . The note she wrote was not dramatic: Dear Bill: You did not see me today, when you were lunching at the Stanley with Muriel Laird. But I saw you. So did Mary Grayson, who happened to be with me. But we won’t go into that. Suffice to say that I understood, Bill. You will say I should have known weeks ago, and I suppose I should have . . . when you bought all those new clothes. After all, one does not put cheese on a mouse trap, unless one expects the trap to work. Well, she is younger than I am —though not so terribly many years —and she is very rich. Both of which may help you forget the seven beautiful years we have had together. I wish you well; you need never give me another thought. I have already written to Dr. Welsh, and shall go back to nursing immediately. You can keep the furniture. Fondly, AMANDA. There. That was broad-minded enough, she hoped. tt tt tt STE dressed and packed quickly. Left her trunk in the guest room, to be sent for later. Sadie must not be made suspicious. Steady nerves. No tears. Pride drove Amanda on. She would get out of town without any fuss, there was a train to Wilmington every hour, so she would have time for an errand or two before leaving—for good. “Give this envelope to Mr. Hines, Sadie, if he comes home before I do. And be sure to have the steak rare tonight.” Her head was high, leaving her beloved home. She would do her grieving in private, thanks . . But some time later, with but 20 minutes to catch her train, who should she run into on Center-st but Mary Grayson! And Mary was no respecter of privacy. Mary usually knew everything about everybody in town before the parties involved knew it themselves. It had been she who had once told Amanda about Muriel Laird’s engagement to the young Pratt boy, and about its subsequent break. “Oh, hello,” Amanda said, and would have passed on. But Mary held her back. “My dear, isn't it perfectly thrilling! I just his minute heard!” Amanda's chin went higher. “Heard what?” “About Bill—and Murial Laird. You minx, I’ll bet you knew all the time. To think Bill handled all those threatening letters, and kept them out of the papers ... It was wonderful. And then to get her married to the Pratt boy and off to Europe before anybody could —” “Wait a minute,” Amanda gasped. “What-did-Bill-do?” Mary roared. “As if you didn’t know. They say there were millions involved—linking the Pratt money and the Lairds’. No wonder .he letters were”— tt tt tt AMANDA did not say good-by. She flew to a telephone, but she knew it was too late. By now Bill would have read—and re-read—-the note. He “Sadie! Sadie, this is Miss Amanda. Let me speak to Mr. Hines.” “He ain’t here,” Sadie answered. “He come home about 5, but he went out again. He acted awful fidgity, Miss Amanda. Like he was” Tears almost drowned Amanda’s next words She thought she was going to smother . . . “Did he say anything—after he read the note?” There was a silence. Bleak and terrible. Then: “Land’s sake, Miss Amanda. You know what I dona done. I clean forgot about that note. I was so busy that” Amanda did not hear the rest. She was in a taxi, giving her address to the driver, belore Sadie finished her explanation. Home. She was going home! It wouldn’t take more than 15 minutes, if the man drove fast. Oh, thank you Lord . . . Thank you . . . For giving Sadie a bad memory! THE END. SCHULTE ONE UPON BLANTON AFTER TIFF Hoosier Representative Scores in Texan’s Filibuster. Timet Special WASHINGTON, March 26.—Representative William T. Schulte, Hammond, Ind., Democrat and member of the House District Committee, scored a parliamentary victory over that irrepressible objector, Representative Thomas L. Blanton (D. Tex.). Mr. Blanton staged a filibuster by demanding repeated roll calls during debate on a bill proposing to regulate rents in Washington. Exasperated, Mr. Schulte took the floor and in a fiery speech suggested that perhaps Mr. Blanton was playing the landlord game. He did not name the Texan, however. It was the latter fact which caused Speaker Byrns to overrule Mr. Blanton’s objections to the remarks and brought a roar of approval from the other members. RITES SET TODAY FOR RUSHVILLE PHYSICIAN Dr. Dawson VanOsdol Dies Following Brief Illness. Timet Special RUSHVILLE, Ind., March 26.—Funeral services for Dr. Dawson D. VanOsdol, physician who died here Tuesday after a brief illness, were to be held *oday at 2 at St. Paul’s Methodist Church, with the Rev. E. L. Hutchins, '’olumbus, officiating. >r. VanOsdT, who was 68, was graduated from Miami Medical Collegj, Cincinnati, and resided hero more than 35 years. He was widely known as a collector of Indian relics. JML

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THE TARZAN TWINS

As the howling, blood-thirsty warriors bore down on them, Doc urged his companions to another concerted attack at the gates. In a frenzy of hopelessness they hurled themselves upon the barrier. This time it gave way and released the four fugitives.

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. THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Swiftly they sped across the clearing toward the black shadows of the jungle, for their feet were winged by terror of the hideous death clutching so close behind to drag them back into its awful embrace. But no less swift were the fiendish cannibal warriors! .. .

—By Ahern

: YEARS TOO SQQnT

. . . The white boys and the Bagalla tribesmen had long believed that Tarzan was dead. When they had received the news, it was false; but it seemed now that the mad elephant Gudah had been appointed by fate to translate that fiction into the ghastly substance of reality.

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While the apes shrieked in frenzy, the huge brute held Tarzan helpless in the coils of his great trunk. Apparently Gudah was savoring each moment of the ape-man’s distressing ordeal before making an end to his victim by dashing him to the floor of the Vale of Death!

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