Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 November 1936 — Page 18

PAGE 18

SALUTE TO Jove =

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE HE front door stood open. Kate ran in, calling excitedly, “Jeff! Jeff!” : He came toward her. To him,

* $00, it seemed natural. He had al- |

Ways dreamed that she would come like this one day.

“You want to hear your sister]

sing,” he said. “I've got the sta-

: tion. Come—"

‘They went into the front parlor, where, she saw, he had added no touch of his own save the radio. . « . Caroline had begun to sing. The fine, powerful receiving set was bringing her clear young voice into the room as if she herself were present. ‘ “In the gloaming, oh, my darling, When the lights are soft and low, Will you think of me, my darling, as you did so long ago——"

Caroline's voice vibrating through the big old parlors where she had sung so often...over there, Caroline’s piano, the top stiil raised... ~ over here the old mahogany sofa where she, Kate, had sat so often listening... ] When the song had died away Kate met Jeff Howard's eves. He did not seem a foreign presence in this room. He, too, somehow belonged here, along with Caroline's voice and the old furniture and the memories of childhood. “Jeff,” she said brokenly, putting out her hand, “I'd like you to know I don't mind Any more your being here. I've been wicked. I'm sorry and ashamed——" “Kate,” he said.. “Little Kate!” She was in his arms, close, just as he had dreamed it. She was saying, “How can you love me when I've been such a devil?” And he was replying, “I've been a devil, too. I've loved you harder and harder for every inch you've fought me. Kiss me, Kate. Lift your face, darlin’—" Caroline began to sing “The Sweetest Story Ever Told.” They did not hear it, for they were living it.

AROLINE was lunching with

Carl Neilson. Their almost |

constant four-day association necessitated by the launching of her program had made them well acquainted and aware of one another. She said, after he had ordered, “Would you mind, Carl, if I'd read this letter from my sister? It came Just as I was leaving the studio. I'm still anxious about my grandfather—" . “Read it,” he told her. “Then I can expect more attention.” She had scarcely begun before she uttered a quick exclamation, “My sister’s going to be married! Next Tuesday, if I can be there!”

ARL NEILSON laughed. “The girl with the reddish hair. I met her before I met you.” He lit a cigaret and watched Caroline's sensitive face as she devoured the letter, now forgetful of his presence. This is what Kate had written: “My Dearest Sister: I'm marrying Jeff Howard Tuesday afternoon if you can dash out from the city that day. Can you? Answer, please! “When this reaches you you’ll be a veteran of several broadcasts. I heard your first song and it was lovely. You didn't sound frightened; just alive and happy. I didn't hear any more because Jeff had my ears muffied. I was at Meed Meadows, listening over his radio. With him. “You see, it was this way. At first I thought I couldn't bear the tension of listening in when you took off. Then I felt I had to. Our radio was worse than usual— one big blur. It was 6:50 o'clock. I got in the car and drove like mad to Meed Meadows to listen “there. Don't ask me why I didn't go to the Holds. Theyre nearer and they have a good radio. I simply didn't. I drove to Jeff Howard's as if that were the oniy place on earth to go. Honey, excuse me while I digress. Have you noticed how gorgeous-looking he is in his rough way? Like Gary Cooper, sort of—" Caroline looked up to exclaim to Carl Neilson, “Heavens! She's comparing him with Gary Cooper. Wait—I'll finish—" She went on reading: “He's loved me almost from {he first, Caroline, though hating me, too, he admits. Gran'dad (who's much better, by the way) is utterly amazed and pleased and wants to know when the courting took place. Althy and Zeke also are pleased, but baffled. But you will understand. We were courting when I was digging up his lawn and he was shooting me in the shoulder; when he was buying my horse to torment me, and I was setting his house afire. That's why were so mad about each other now and can’t wait any longer to be married. “Let me know if Tuesday at 4 will suit you. At the church. As my only attendant, you'll want a sweet new dress—you'll have money to buy it now because we shan't need any of your salary. Choose something simple, as I'm going to wear Mother's muslin wedding dress rather than grandmother's satin and lace. Two tailors are working night and day on Jeff to eliminate that mountain lock when he dons his cutaway. “Your same, only infinitely happier, Kate. “pP, S.—Bring .Carl Neilson if you still like him and if he wants to come.” = = =

AROLINE looked up from the

letter. “Tuesday at 4.” she said, “in our little church in Shelby.

| prison garden . . .

then he uses «- a double negalive, Oh, there'll be things about him to prick Kate, of course, but she’s too much in love to mind.” Young Mr. Neilson looked at the girl he had “discovered.” “I approve of mixing strains. Most of sou ‘Southern gentry’ intermarry too much for your own good. | it's not productive of creative genius. Take you, for instance. An ideal husband for you, I'd say, would be a chap under 30, just a generation moved from Norway. | Somebody who's more interested |in music than horses. Somebody {| who doesn't like Southern cooking, | doesn't call you ‘Honey’ and has never bothered to see a Derby run. Somebody who has lots of enthusiasm for the future of the radio and your voice. Me. But I'll give you until June to think it over. I like women with college degrees.” Caroline blushed. “What an unromantic proposal. So cold and practical.” “You'll regret that word ‘cold, little one. We Norsemen have a reputation—but never mind. You'll find out. Eat your chop. You're anemic. I could swear to it. I want you to have a blood count taken at once, then start the right tonic. Anemia’s bad for a voice.” “I don't know that I like you, really,” Caroline told him spitefully. “No, I'll have to be an acquired | taste. You've never known any- | body like me. So ungallant, I sup- | pose you'd call it. But I'm beginining to love you. That's apt to |make a difference. Don't push your custard aside! Eat it!” = ” o ATE and Jeff rode horseback the morning of their wedding day. He had given her Brown Boy as a betrothal gift. In his pock~=t was her wedding gift. He drew it out, leaned from his horse and put it in her hands. It was a deed to Meed Meadows, making it Katherine ‘Meed’s. “Oh, Jeff! But it's not necessary now! If it belongs to you, and I belong to you, what difference does it make?”

by Rachel Mack

“There’s a difference. The land's always been Meed land. Some day Howards will get it—but younger Howards. Through inheritance, and theyll be part Meed.” He smiled shyly. They took the path through the woods, leading home. “Yes, you're right, Jeff. There's something about having it for my own!” She seized a walnut leaf as they passed and pressed it against her cheek. She shut her eyes, letting her reason and senses join in the awareness of happiness: her horse beneath her, her land about her, her house just beyond. “People will say, Jeff, that I married you to get my home back. Do you mind?” , “No. I don’t mind what they say. I've got you.” “Jeff, tell me something. Are you awfully rich?” “Worth about a million, my lawyer says. He's conservative.” Kate laughed. “Then I don't mind asking you for something, Jeff. I'd like a comfortable, modern cabin for Althy and Zeke. Gran’dad got poor before he could build it, as he’d planned. Rutherford, their grandchild, lives with them. They're none of them much good for work, Jeff. And there's Gran’dad himself! I'm bringing you a lot of parasites, dear.” “I like ’em all,” Jeff Howard said. “We'll have a right good time together.” Then, after a quartermiie of woods path, “I thought your grandfather’d like his old room back. He'd feel more natural there.” Kate gave him a grateful look, rashly mixed with adoration. It went to his head. He drew his horse alongside and demonstrated that a mountaineer can kiss from horseback very effectively when he puts his mind to it.

THE END.

“HALF-ACRE IN EDEN,” The Times’ new serial, starts today on Page 10.

“ R. BASCOMB, will you give a few minutes to Joe Burke before you leave for Washington? He heard your talk to the men and wants to speak to you. He's the prisoner that takes care of the

”

A doctor in a federal prison is subjected to any number of unreasonable requests. I was extremely busy and my train left for Washington in an hour. I was tempted to refuse, but recalled the fact that Joe Burke was one of the prisoners who had never before made demands on me. “Send him in. Five minutes— no more!” Joe Burke shuffled to my desk, one hairy hand clasped over the wrist of the ether, his peaked cap under his arm. = = ”

“ OU'RE going to Washington, sir?” Before I could reply, he added eagerly: “My mother lives across the river, sir.” “Sit down, Joe, and tell me about your mother.” He dropped heavily into a chair. “My mother thinks I'm dead, sir. I ain't written to her since I came some from France—from the war.” He spoke jerkily. “I never was much good . . . and she thought the war might be the making of me. She was proud I was goin’ to fight for America! But I ain't no good. I was a coward over there, too. When I found I couldn't do the right thing ... I just came up missin’, let her think I died in France.” He paused.

= » =

“ ELL, what can I do for you, Joe?” I asked, looking at my watch. When I glanced up at him, he was leaning toward me, his hands clenched tight. “You'll be goin’ across the river to Arlington, mebbe, sir? My mother lives just a bit back of the cemetery on the road that leads out from the bridge. It’ll be easy to find, sir. It's just a little house with a garden. ... If you'll be so kind to find eut —if she’s proud of me—because I died in France. That's all. You see, my time is up in January, but I ain't goin’ back. I'd rather she'd think I was a good soldier . ..” Armistice Day in Washington, and all eyes were turned toward Arlington. I set out early, intent upon carrying out my mission, before the memorial services began. About a half .mile from the boundary of the cemetery I found a small group of weather-stained cottages. An untidy old woman leaning over the gate of the first one before which I stopped my car, pointed across the road in answer to my question.

= = =

“ HE cottage. with the vines over the porch,” she said. “But Mrs. Burke ain't home. She's over at the cemetery. Her son went to war 'n never came back. She thinks it's him there — the Unknown Soldier. She said last night the services today are for her Joey.” She tapped her forehead significantly. ‘ For the next two hours I forgot myself in the beautiful simplicity of America’s Unknown Soldier. The Stars and Stripes whipped in the breeze, over the masses of delicate flowers that were placed upon the tomb. Then—the clear nétes of a

bugle. s » »

| FTER the crowds had left, she

came—clothed in rusty black.

8 5338

SOLDIER

By Helen St. Bernard Daily Short Story

There was a lump in my throat. “I am sure it is Joey—a mother’s son,” I said softly, and found my hand covering her old wrinkled one. ” ” 2

TOOK her back to her cottage and promised to come again. She was pathetically eager to talk tc me when I told her that I, too, had been in France during the war. A week later I drove out toward Arlington to keep my promise. The old untidy woman with whom I had talked on Armistice Day was just coming cut of Mrs. Burke's gate. “She's sick. A stroke,” she told me. “Guess she won't be livin’ much longer.” I went in to see her as she lay white and motionless on the bed in the dingy little bedroom adjoining the living room. She opened her lips and I caught the word ‘“socn,” and then, “Joey.” Co 2 ” a8

PP \HAT night I sent several telegrams. Joe Burke's time would be up in six weeks; his prison record had been good. I was able to obtain a parole for him. I met him at the station in Washington. “Your mother’s dying, Joe,” I told him. He did not speak until we were crossing the bridge into Arlington. “Will she know me, sir? Has she spoken of me? Does she know

his look of wonder, I added: “In Arlington . . . the Unknown Solcier.” Watching, I knew that Joe Burke was fighting his greatest battle. His eyes were half closed, but his shoulders were erect, his hands clenched. He relaxed as we passed the entrance to Arlington. Almost mechanically his right hand came to his cap, saluted. 8 2 Ed E was out of the car before 1 could bring it to a stop before his mother’s shabby little house. He ran up the path, and cleared :he steps to the porch with one long stride. I followed him to the door of the bedroom. “Old lady!” I heard him sob as he went to his knees beside the bed. “Sounds like—Joey,” his mother whispered as her white head turned on the pillow. “But Joey .... is in Arlington. You knew Joey?” I saw his big hand close over her frail one and I turned away. “Sure I knew Joey! He died afightin’, ma'am!” His voice was tender, eager. “Fightin’ and talkin’ . . . . about his old lady. You were proud of .... Joey, ma'am?” = ” = “ E was a soldier . . . of America.” Mrs. Burke's face smoothed out into a smile of peace. “1 am very . . . proud . . . of Joey. . . .” A long moment passed before Joe Burke raised his big head from the coverlet. He looked at the old face against the pillow and his lips moved. Then he folded the thin white hands over the quiét bosem. When he rose to his feet and turned, I knew a different Joe Burke faced me. “I've got a lot to live up to, sir, but I'm goin’ to do it. From now z= I'm goin’ to be Joe Burke—Soler. . . ." (THE END)

(Copyright. 1936. by Syndicate, Tonited Peatyry

The characters in this story are fictitious. ———————————————

Ask The Times

Inclose a S-cent stamp for when addressing any Nerney. ay infofmation to The Indianapolis Times WashWe Washington, B. Legal nS advice ean not be ziven, nor can extended research be wu ,

Q—How many bases can a runner take when a balk is called?

A—Every base runner advances one base. If there is a runner on third, he scores.

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WELL, BY GOLLY, WE MADE IT! WHEW! I WOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN A BUSTED (QE oN CHANCES! NICE JUS PERFECTLY ) GON', DINNY, AWFUL? OL BOV.

(0 1936 BY NEA SERVICE. INC. T. M. REG. U. S, PAT. OFF. CROSSWORD PUZZLE

HORIZONTAL

1 Englishman who visited U. S. Al recently. 12 To wander about, 13 Ketone. 14 Injured by use, 16 Water cress. 17 Rode. 18 Tree. 19 To be unde. cided. 20 Indian. 21 To ‘lease. 22 Like. 23 Moisture. 24 Aye. 27 And. 29 Boundary.

32 Note in scale. 51 Extensive 1 Jests,

34 Constellation 36 Insipid. 38 Ancient

41 To contract. 42 Feet.

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43 Ringlet, England. VERTICAL 46 Slovak.

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