Indianapolis Times, Volume 48, Number 37, Indianapolis, Marion County, 23 April 1936 — Page 6

PAGE 6

FOLLY an 0 ' FAREWELL

CHAPTER ONE BOURNE hurried home through the April twilight of that day that was to prove so fateful. A few weeks more, she thought, and the gray bushes would burst into yellow bloom. April was a nice month, but May would be nicer. That was all right pit was exciting to think of what was ahead. In May the lilacs would blossom, opening their hearts to fill the air with heady perfume. And sometimes the birds sang at night. The moon would be round as a silver dollar on the twentieth . . . “Wildas party’’ (thus Linda's thoughts flew) “is on the twentieth. I wi’.l sit on the terrace with Dix and feel the broadcloth of his sleeve beneath my hands that get hot and cold when I think of him. “Oh, Dix . . . my lamb with tawny hair and fierce eyebrows that grow so straight across your brow. You haven’t an aristocratic nose at all, and your mouth is sensual, but you are an aristocrat and you aren’t sensual. You’re divine . . The dance would be her seventeenth date with Dix. Seventeen since the night of the Glee Club concert. The concert at Adclphi Hall, and the tawny-headed boy booming Neapolitan love songs lustily in his sweet, untrained voice. And later, the waiter coming to tell her that “her grandmother” wished her to take supper in the alcove. And in the alcove there was Dix, the tawny-headed singer. “Hello, Red-dress,” he said. “I didn’t know any other way to get you away from that mob and I wanted to know you. I’m Dix— Dixon Cobb Carter. Will you have some chicken salad?” tt tt tt THAT was the way it began. Linda had some definite ideas about how she hoped it would end. Where she didn’t care. The farthest corner of the earth in a canvas tent would be all right with her, so long as it was at the end of a life spent with him. Linda, on her way home from her errand at the Newtown Blade office, turned into her own street —and her dreaming came to an end abruptly. It was the appearance of her own home that startled her. The big house was ablaze with lights; the drive was filled with cars, yet only silence came from the house, and there were strangers standing on the wide porch. Afterward she couldn’t remember who took her aside, telling her to be brave, to remember that her father could not have been in his right mind and—finally—that he was dead by his own hand. And when she had escaped to her own room, she stared at herself in the mirror, shamed that she could not cry, yet realizing that 6he could not be untrue to herself. a a lINDA BOURNE did not love her J father. She had tried to all those years when the mother she faintly remembered had gone away with another man, leaving the tiny L'nda alone in the big house with Calvin Bourne. Linda thought of her mother then, and what manner of girl she must have been. She tried to picture her, here in the room that for so long had been* her little world. A loveless world where once Linda had pretended that her dolls loved her and asked her to help them and love them always. No one in all her life had asked for her love, i She had friends. She was popular. She danced well, rode well, played a good game of tennis and jpolf. She was an “organizer,” a (committee girl. That was the life khe led as leader of the little set ■ hat constituted young society in ■Newtown. I The light went out of the sky jnd Linda sat in the dark in that iiouse of tragedy, forlorn in the (thought that there was no one to Srhink of her with sincere kindness 1 and sorrow. Her world would be shocked, but it lacked tenderness. tt a a ONE man was thinking of her . . . Peter Gardiner, alone in the city m>m of the Newtown Blade, puffing lazily on a battered pipe, contemplated his long legs, draped on an editorial desk, and thought of the girl who had been there a short time before. Point by point, Pete Gardiner, ace political reporter in the state by his own admission, reviewed his appraisal of the president of the local Junior League, daughter of the town's leading mill owner and leader of a set that had not yet discovered him. Pete knew girls, but not as many ns would like to have known him. He had never known any like Linda. The Gardiners, mother and son, had lived on the wrong side of town ever since Mrs. Gardiner, newly widowed, had put up the little sign that read “Plain Dressmaking.” They still lived on the wrong side of town, but in comparative luxury now; Pete made 540 a week. m m tt FORTY dollars wouldn’t seem like much to a girl like Linda Bourne, Pete thought wryly. Not that it made any difference. If he were going to be interested in any girl it wouldn’t be one like her. His dream girl, faintly resembling Dietrich, Harlow and Madge Evans, floated through his mind, Sgi guffer with “regular” pains when one or two Aequin Tablets and a glassful of water usually brings fllorious relief? If taken boor* “regular” pains start, you may escape all severe a pain. j g Z* Fo* "Regular** Pain*

and he compared her with Linda as he remembered her. He wouldn't call Linda “pretty,” but she had something. She would have her moments of breathless beauty, he thought, remembering the glow of an inner radiance that filled her gray eyes and lit up the features of her heart-shaped face. He remembered the sweetness of her mouth that was too larges for prettiness. And he remembered the way her dark hair clung to her small head, escaping in tendrils curled like shadows on her cheek. He liked her head, he decided, and the straightness of her back, the fine molding of her bones and the strength in her slender hands as she sit at his typewriter doing the little piece about a Junior League bazaar. She was a thoroughbred, and Pete liked thoroughbreds. He was one himself. a tt tt THE desk phone rang. Pete reached for it languidly. “Hello, Corbin” tit was the Blade’s police reporter). “Cal Bourne shot himself in his office an hour ago. Tell Barrett I’m on the story, will you?” Pete reached for his crumbled cigaret package, and thrust it back. Moved by an impulse he didn’t stop to analyze, he took the stairs three at a time. Somebody would have to tell that poor kid her old man had bumped himself off. Gently! It was Linda, cool, dry-eyed, and white, who opened the door to him. She had forgotten him, but suddenly their meeting that afternoon in the Blade office came back to her. “I’m afraid you'll have to excuse us, Mr. Gardiner. And I must ask you not to presume on our meeting this afternoon. A statement will be given to the newspapers.” tt a a SHE spoke before Pete had r a chance to say anything, and *for the second time within an hour she left him. This time he wanted to slap her face. Some time he would pay her back. “That poor child!” Mrs. Gardiner said to her son when she read an account of the funeral. “Don't worry about that 'poor child.’ She’ll get along,” Pete said coldly. His mother laid aside the newspaper. “Do you know her, Peter?” “Not socially, Mom.” Then he told her about meeting Linda at the office the day of the tragedy, how he had gone to break the news to her and the reception she had given him. "Well, son, she made a natural mistake. How could she have known why you went? Os course she thought you were just another reporter. i think—for your own sake —you should go and explain it to her.” tt tt a Do you?” Pete bit savagely on his pipe. “Maybe I will some warm night when I can do with a bit of Cold air.” But, whether he intended to or not, Pete Gardiner went to call on Linda Bourne and found her sobbing, her head pillowed on the new grass. He gave her his handkerchief and offered his shoulder. She only knew that it was more comfortable than the grass and wiped her eyes on his handkerchief. tt tt CHAPTER TWO TT'uk may iu minutes Linda rested her head on Pete's shoulder, and then she remembered who she was. With the tight little wet ball of her own handkerchief, she wiped the last of her tears away, j smoothed her rumpled frock, tucked j her hair up and drew away. “Don’t mind me,” Pete said. "And a good cry often does a world of good. Have a cigaret?” He tendered his crumpled pack. “N-no, thank you,” Linda started to say, then reached with a hand that still trembled childishly. "Thanks,” she said, as steadily as her close-to-tears voice would permit. She swallowed hard and strove for poise. Then, remembering, she lost what little she could assume. Her composure crumbled and she buried her face in her arms. “Say, look here—that won’t do any good.” Pete, in the throes of an unaccustomed emotion, found himself, for once, with pity lending a sturdy brake to the flow of his flippant talk. What did a fellow say to comfort a weeping girl? “I’m all right. Don’t m-mind rr.e. I’ll stop in a minute,” Linda brought out between sobs. “Want me to go away?” Pete was sure that she did. “No,” she answered to his surprise. “Please may I have yoUr handkerchief again?” tt u tt W r HAT is there about me that appeals to ladies in distress?” he asaea ioonsniy wnen the silence threatened to become permanent. “I’m sure I don’t know anything about- your ladies in distress,” Linda said at last. “But I ... I don’t want to b alone.” “Alone? How about the family?” Pete nodded toward the house. “I haven’t any family. My aunt went away today and Father . . .

Little fish are getting l)igg( r, • Summer time is on its way. If you’d only stop to figger, Sj You’d get Gulflube right away. m CHANGE NOW TO M jjtih Gulflube Summer Grade S oil

as you know . . .” Her unfinished sentence brought them both back to remembering the last time they nad met. After a little pause, and with no small embarrassment, Pete said, “I dropped around to tell you that you misunderstood the reason for my visit the . , . that other night. I didns come to get a story. I came because . . . well, because I hoped perhaps you hadn’t heard and I had a funny idea I might be able to tell you without its hurting more than was necessary.” Linda’s eyes grew a little wider as she appraised him, seeing him for the first time as a person. Pete was embarrassed by her silent scrutiny. “Guess I was pretty presumptuous. I don’t usually get that way. I wanted you to know, though." n a tt “T’M glad you told me,” she said A gravely. “Why did you do that? Why did you come to tell me?” Pete didn't answer at once because he didn’t know how. He didn’t know himself. He couldn’t very well tell her that he liked the way she carried her head, or that he knew she was the kind of a girl who could take the harder knocks, out he didn't want her to have to take them. He hadn’t really thought about it before. Whenever he thought about her he had disliked her. In his own mind he amended the word dislike to resent. He hadn't disliked her; he had resented her. The latent pride in him that ..had protected him so well through his young years had met no challenge until he met Linda and knew that he or his kind did not exist for her. And Pete, like most who knew—or thought they knew—Linda Bourne, was wrong. She was incapable of snobbishness. She was fair, kindly, gracious and intelligent, but she was reserved and had the considerate aloofness of her class. She was not confiding, effusive or intrusive in any relation in her life. And she was shy. She lacked the powerful weapons of spontaneous action and obvious reaction, sometimes called aggressiveness. tt tt tt BUT Pete did not know that, and, from his first moment of meeting her in the Blade office, he checked his uncomfortable feeling about her to his own belief that she regarded him as her inferior. And now he did not know how to answer her. He was glad that none of his gang were there to hear him fumble weakly for an explanation that came haltingly. “Oh, I don’t know. I just happened to hear it on the telephone and . . . well, you’d just been in and ...” “Yes,” she answered noncommittally enough, knowing why and therefore not believing his explanation. “You,did it because you are kind. And I was inexcusably rude to you. Please forgive me.” “Oh, sure, that’s all right. Things weren’t so good around here that night. I meant to come before to explain . . . but, well . . I really came tonight because my mother insisted.” “Your mother?” Pete heard the note of wistfulness and sincere interest in her voice, and the distance between them didn’t seem too great. “You’d like her,” he said. He was surprised that he had said it; he seldom spoke about his mother with all the affection in his heart so close to his voice. “Tell me about her.” tt tt tt HE did—with increasing pleasure—as she drew him out until he told her about the early years, the little house on the other side of town, the weathered shingle in the windows, the years of struggle and schooling and work. “You must be awfully proud of her.” There was moisture in Linda's eyes, but Pete could not know the reason why. "I’d like you to meet her,” Pete said quickly, and as quickly half regretted it before she answered. “I’d like to.” That was all she said, but it was sincere, not a gesture. “It’s a date.” Pete was ashamed that he Avas so relieved by her answer. “And now, young lady, I think I’d better get you a wrap or something. It’s getting dampish out here.” “Would you . . . would you mind coming in with me? I haven’t had supper and I . thought maybe, if you’d keep me company, I might have some.” Linda was much less like the president of the Junior League than a small, pathetic child. “Sure enough, if you'll give me some. I haven't had mine either,” Pete lied gallantly. “I don’t know much about cooking, but if tea, toast, and eggs would tempt you I think I could manage.” st n tt lATER, sitting before a blading u hearth in the library, she told him all the things she had been crying over in the garden. The Bourne “fortune” was gone. Her ‘father had speculated and the reason for his suicide was obvious. The mills were in the hands of the receivers.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

There was no money in the bank. The house was clear of debts, but Linda, left penniless, felt that she ought to try to sell it. “I’m not really afraid of having no money,” she said hastily when the story was finished. "I can work. Other girls have had to face the necessity of earning a living and there’s no reason why I can’t.” “Work is tough for a girl these days,” Pete said. “Particularly for a girl like you. I mean that you have been used to a different sort i of life ar.d to different things than the average working girl can buy for herself today. You ought to stay home with your family until you get married.” When he said that, Linda thought of Dix, and when she thought of him that quick thrill filled her and stabbed her heart suddenly. There had been only the short, conventional note from Dix. tt tt PERHAPS he thought it best to wait for a little time and then, surely, he would come to see her. Surely, after what he had said to her all those other times, he would come soon. “Haven’t you some plans like that?” Pete was speaking to her and she had to come back from the far place of her memory. “Like what?” she asked. “Won’t you want to go somewhere and visit or stay with . . . well, some of your family?” “I haven’t any family,” she said bitterly. “I don’t know where my mother is and I had no one else but Aunt Katherine. She left this morning to stay with cousins of hers. No, I have no one to go to.” “But surely. .. .” Pete couldn’t finish his protesting question. “Oh, there are friends,” she said. "But one doesn’t Jive with them, and they don’t keep one from feeling alone. I feel pretty much alone now and it frightens me. It’s a strange feeling; I don’t seem to know what to do about it.” Fete took a long draw on the last half-inch of his cigaret. “You could marry me,” he said. (To Be Continued) Vital Statistics Marriage Licenses (Incorrect addresses freauently are tlven to the Marriaee License Bureau deliberately. The Times in printing the official list assumes no responsibility for such addresses.) Esper C. Files, 23. of 827 N. Delaware st. laborer, and Ellie May Estes, 22, c 1 1336 Shepard-st. housekeeper. Arvin C. Eplev, 26. Louisville, Kv.. truck driver, and Goldie M'. Adams, 31, of 1260 W. Ray-st. press operator. Kailus Caldwell, 22. of 444 Bell-st, packing employe, and Mabel V. Sturdvent, 18, of 1012 H©sbrook-st, clerk. Edward J. Arold. 48, of 1301 College-av. pharmacist, and Martha C. Hanna, 30, of 1301 College-av. housekeeper. John A, Logan, 22. of 927 N. Tibbs-av, station attendant, and Margaret E. Bramblefc, 21, of 1524 Earl-av, factory employe. Births Boys •Van Lear. Rub') Bridgeforth, 1302 E. 25th. Earl, Pauline Pruett. Methodist. David, Elizabeth Williamson. Methodist. Earl, Bdna Goodall. Methodist. Thomas. Eloise Mollov. Methodist. Earl. Gladys Phillips. Methodist. Ralph, Marie Lingeman. Methodist. James, Christine Rodarmel, 702 Weghorst. Delbert. Ethel WiJlsey, St. Francis. Ellsworth. Nellie Thorman, St. Francis. Harold, Josephine Atkinson, St. Francis. Ernest, Helen Biltz, St. Francis. Girls James, Sara Harden. Community. Carlin, Theresa Buchanan. Methodist. James. Virginia May, St. Francis. Alphonse. Mary Tietz, St. Francis; Dale, Ruth Justus. St. Francis. Ernest. Lillian Karch. St. Francis. Thomas. Ruth Gasawav, St. Francis. Elvin, Kathryn Shephard, St. Francis. Deaths Louis J. Ihrig, 76, at 5858 E. Washington, arteriosclerosis. Robert C. Strelow, 70. at City Hospital, arteriosclerosis. John Welch, 70, at 1232 E. 16th, coronary occlusion. George Young, 26, at 1007 Edison, acute cardiac dilatation. Susan Elizabeth Haibe, 82, at 27 S. Webster. accidental. Mary E. Dailey. 81. at 2210 N. Illinois, tuberculosis. Chauncey M. Custer, 73, at 5627 Julian, broncho pneumonia. Lena Bell Dickson, 53, at 1131 Oliver, carcinoma. Marvin Lee Threlkeld. 3 mo., at Methodist Hospital, broncho pneumonia. John Barrett, 70, at Long Hospital, arteriosclerosis. George R. Taylor. 49, at Methodist Hospital. pyelonephritis. William L. Adams. 45. at 2525 Brookwav, hypostatic pneumonia. Harvey A. Bryan, 66, at City Hospital, chronic nephritis. Infant Harris, 21 days, at City Hospital, erysipelas.

CITY RELIGIOUS WORKER TO AID IN PEACE DRIVE Dr. Alexander Paul Will Be Speaker in U. S. Campaign. Dr. Alexander Paul, Indianapolis, an executive secretary of the United Christian Missionary Society, has been enrolled as a speaker for the National Emergency Peace Campaign, it was announced today. Mass meetings are to be held In various cities, the Indianapolis date

being set for May 4. Among the speakers expected here for the meeting in Cadle Tabernacle are the Rt. Hon. George Lansbury, British a b o r Party leader; Rabbi Ferdinand M. Isserman, St. Louis, and Ray Newton, Philadelphia. The campaign

i|pi re pfk - j|fja raw fIH wF \4l!

formally opened Saturday night when Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt and Mr. Lansbury spoke on a radio program. Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick, board of sponsors chairman, ha§ invited 100 outstanding men and women of the United States to serve with him. Among these are Gen. Smedley D. Butler, Stuart Chase, Henry. L. Dennison, Norman Thomas, William Allen White, Charles P. Taft 11, Zona Gale and Mary E. Woolley. The campaign is under the auspices of a co-operative committee of 31 peace organizations.

CAPITAL ACCOUNTS OF NATION’S BANKS DROPS Proportion to Liabilities Lower, Deposit Corp. Says. By United Press WASHINGTON, April 23.—The proportion of capital to liabilities of the nation’s banks has fallen constantly during the last two years despite an $837,303,000 government investment designed to check this trend, it was Vevealed today. The Federal Deposit Insurance Corp.’s call report on 14,132 insured banks disclosed that only sl2 of each SIOO listed under liabilities represented capital account. Os this only $lO was actually laid out by private expenditures. The remainder was provided by the Reconstruction Finance Corp. MISSING BOY SOUGHT Police today were asked to search for Jackie Mead, 14, of 2048 E. Ray-mond-st, who has been missing from home since Sunday. He is described as five feet tall, weighing 85 pounds, brown hair and eyes and wearing a blue jacket and trousers and black shoes. Gone, but Not Forgotten Automobiles reported to police as stolen belong to: Harry R. Reed. 321 E. Mlnnesota-st,, Buick sedan, 46-201, from in front of 815 Spruce-st. Leonard Morganson, 1821 Millersvilledr. Chevrolet coupe, 122-375, from Millers-ville-rd.

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Burning Up Fire Capt. Philip Moos, who often chides the “boys” at Engine House 17 to save their money, was wishing a fire or something would happen today to distract their attention. He was being given a “roasting.” Deciding io cut down cn the grocery bill, Capt. Moos went to Rocky Ripple yesterday to dig “greens.” While he was gone a thief broke into his car and took an overcoat, glasses and tax receipts. The loss was valued at SSO.

MAKE VOTERS LISTS Registration Clerks Begin Work on Addressograph Machines. Clerks today began running the lists of more than 247,000 Marion County voters on axidressograph machines. One list is to remain on file in the voters’ registration office, and a copy each goes to the Democratic and Republican county committees. The lists are to be completed by Saturday.

LAST NOTICE! This is last notice of special Indianapolis razor offer. .. Some stores still have a few 89c Kits .. „ Try to find one, for this offer will not be repeated in Indianapolis! FOR ONLY This great offer is about to end because dealers’ stocks are almost sold out and no more Introductory Kits can be obtained. The few Kits remaining will be sold in a few days. Then the same razor in the Deluxe Kit will be available at $2.00. Better try to pick up one of the 89c Kits today—it’s R real bargain. schick Jnjeetoi* BAZOR THE RAZOR YOUR FRIENDS ARE TALKING ABOUT

Dr. Paul

Crash Truck in Operation A “crash truck” was in service at the Municipal Airport today. The

Effective Sunday, April 26 ' 9 Improved Air Conditioned Service j NATIONAL LIMITED to WASHINGTON EAST America s finest air-conditioned train offers you its incomparab'e comfort and convenience. Through sleeping car to Washington and Baltimore leaves Indianapolis 1:20 p. m. (instead of 4:35 p. m.). Arrive Washington 7:40 a. m. Arrive Cincinnati .. 5:28 p.m. Arrive Philadelphia 10:37 a. m. Baltimore .. 8:41a.m. Ne , w , Y Q ork “ l:,0 P-m- ---• (42nd St.) For other important changes see local agent. Ticket offices: 108 E. Washington St. Lincoln 6404-6405, Riley 3355 Baltimore & Ohio

.APRIL 23, 1936

truck is fitted with crash tools, fire extinguishing chemicals and first aid equipment.