Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 July 1936 — Page 15

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[ DAILY SHORT

Big Deal

SHAFT of warm sunshine fell across the telegram in Leila Gillette’s hand. She brushed back the hair that clung damply to her

forehead and reached for her hand-

kerchief. It was not in her pocket. Still looking down at the crumpled | yellow sheet, she crooked her arm

and wiped the perspiration from her face with her sleeve.

“Morton Gillette killed in suta-}

mobile accident here tonight. .

she read, over and over. “Morton

Gillette—killed—in auto—" The telephone rang. She hesitated for a moment and then reached for it. The call was from a newspaper office which had received a meager report of the accident. No, she could give them no details. “Mrs. Gillette?” she repeated dully. The voice on the wire was asking about Mrs. Gillette. Oh, yes, Mrs. Gillette was very brase . awaiting further particulars. “She smiled a little grimly as she replaced the receiver on the hook.

os » »n HERE was the sound of a car turning into the driveway. Then, low voices on the porch. The front door opened and Marian Graham came toward Leila with her arms outstretched. She was followed by her portly, golf-knickered husband.

“You poor darling. What a fearful shock! We came as soon as we heard. |. . “1 knew you would, -Marion,” dully. "Hello, Clyde.” Clyde Graham took her hand. “Darned tdugh, Lelia. You know, of course, that we—" “I know, Clyde. Thank you. Shall we go into the patio?” In the patio, Leila sank into an orange-and-black wicker chair Marian sat on a wicker footstool beside her. Clyde, his hands deep in his pockets, stood with his back to the fountain, teetering nervously from toe to heel on the flagstones. “Just. ghastly! 1 can not believe——" Marian'’s hand reached for Leila’s. = o » OOR old Mort. Darned tough.” Clyde gazed through the arched ' patio doorway toward a gweep of land that stretched off to the blue waters of the gulf and was dotted with a series of half-con-structed houses of Spanish design. “He certainly was there with the goods, Mort’ was. This would have been one of the finest developments in Florida if—" Another car was ‘heard entering the driveway. More voices on the porch, low and tense. A moment later, Charlie Carson, and Ben and Connie Davis entered the patio. “My dear!” whispered Connie, dabbing at her eyes with an orchidcolored handkerchief. “Ben and I feel deeply for you. Poor old Mort! It doesn't seem possible—" : Ben Davis took his place beside Clyde Graham, and together they teetered from toe to heel on the flagstones before the fountain. Charlie Carson strolled to the doorway of the patio, his hands clasped behind him. 8 ” ”

“YT certainly doesn’t seem possible,”

he said. “Talked to Mort only last Wednesday, and he was in such good spirits. Said he could at last see his way out of the jam. Big deal, I suppose, that took him to v.anta?” Leila looked up at him, nodded. “Yes—a big deal. Money.” “Do tell us the particulars, Lelia,” urged Connie. “I don’t know much more than you do,” quietly, slowly. “I spent the week-end at Winter Haven ith

didn ’t mention going away,” remarked thoughtfully. “Sudden, wasn't 1?”

“Not exactly—sudden,” Leila said

ning on it . didn’t talk much about it, but— singe January—" 2 = = 3 PFTER selling property with him as I did, back during the boom, and being so closely associated with him since—golf and all that——" Clyde dug his hands deep into the pockets of his knickers, heaved a deep sigh. “Lordy, it will seem strange not to have old Mort around. He seemed like himself lately, more than he has since the big bust. . . .” “Perhaps he was counting a on this big deal in Atlanta,” said Leila. “Money, you know.” She rose as she heard another car turn into the driveway. “I must ask to be excused. You will explain for me, Marian?” “Of course, dear. I'll stay right here all day. . . .” “There will “undoubtedly be many phone calls. Just tell them a business trip to Atlanta. We know nothing further than that—now.” Charlie Carson walked with her to the stairs. “It’s darned tough on you, Leila. Anything I can do, y' understand? Money? None of us are very flush, you know, but we can rake up enough between us to tide you over. Emergencies such as this sometimes demand . . remember to callonus. . . .” : “Thanks, Gharlie. kind.” ~

You're very

2 8 8 N her room upstairs, she walked to a window overlooking the | blue waters of the Gulf. Silhouetted against it was a great sign: GILLETTE'S PALM-GULF ACRES —THE HOME PARADISE OF THE SOUTH ; Leila stood drumming a tattoo on the windowsill. “The Home Paradise of the South . ” she whispered. A breeze stirred. Something rustled on her dressing table. Something white fluttered to the floor and lay there in a pool of sunshine. She bent and picked it up. Again she brushed back the hair that clung damply to her forehead, as her eyes scanned Mort's closely written note: Leila: I have gone to Constance Adair. You've known, since January, how things stood. I've made a devil of a mess of your life. You know that, too. You're strapped and I strapped you! Gulf-Palm Acres and everything on it is yours—your money bought and paid for it—but what

knows. I don't. I can’t allow myself to think about that until I can do something. Constance has plenty of money. As soon as I decently can, I'll try to fix things for you. Try to forget I ever existed. MORT. ” ” » LOWLY, Leila “tofe the letter into shreds—once, twice, three times across. She placed the pleces on an ash tray, and struck a match to them. “Mort's last big. deai . . whispered.

."'’ she

THE END. (Copyright, 1936, by United Feature

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i 2 13

STORY ||

By Helen St. Bernard

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GOOD GOSH

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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