Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 26 April 1937 — Page 14
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©1937 NEA SERVICE.INC
by MARION WHITE CAST OF CHARACTERS ,
Joan Barrett, heroine, secretary fo |
|| John Hendry. John Hendry, mining investfient head.’ Bob Andrews, Hendry’'s j ner and Joan's fiance. Sybil Hendry, socialite, John | niece and Joan's rival in love. Philip Hendry, Sybil's brother. Dorothy Starke, Joan's girlhood friend. Charles Norton, California mining promoter,
Yesterday: Sybil learned that Joan once worked in Chicago and promptly -she seized that as a starting point from which to check Joan’s past.
CHAPTER FIVE
T was almost midnight when Sybil returned to her own home. She had left her uncle in a particularly jovial frame of mind, and she felt certain that he would relent in the matter of Philip. She decided to wait up an hour or so, in case her brother did get home that night. It would not do for him to believe that she had let him down, because she meant to have him do something for her. As a matter of fact, she rarely failed him. Philip was extravagant, impetuous and utterly irresponsible, yet he had a certain reckless charm which compelled her admiration. It might have been that she understood his faults because the same desires smoldered within her. If she were better able to control them than he was, it was because she viewed the world's tolerance with more calculation. There was Uncle John, for one thing. Despite the trust fund which her father had left them, Uncle John was still an ‘economic necessity, and his principles must be appeased. That task Sybil took unto herself and she handled it well.
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ENNINGS, the butler, looked into - the living room. “I put your car in the garage, Miss Sybil,” he announced sedately. “Will there be anything else.” “No, Jennings, nothing more.” She picked up a magazine and ettled herself on the divan. “By the way, did my brother call while 1 was out?” “No, Miss Sybil. calls.” “Thank you. Don’t bother with . the lights. I'm staying up a while.” “Very well, Miss Sybil.” He withdrew quietly, leaving an oppressive stillness about the room. Sybil turned the pages of the magazine listlessly and listened to the hall clock tick off the seconds. The house seemed chilly, she thought.
There were no
= » n ER own living room was a fitting background for Sybil Hendry. It was, as she was, smart, | - Sophisticated. Modern furniture stood out strikingly against dull, off-white walls, skilfully brightened by concealed ceiling lights. The floor was completely covered by ‘a warm chartreuse velvet carpeting, with luxurious small Chinese rugs, in the same tones as the furniture, scattered in carelessly correct fashion. The draperies were in old-blue velvet, their edges caught back in the same studied carelessness to | show a lining of chartreuse satin. Mirrors were used artistically — as table tops, as frames for the two large Chinese prints, and as panels down the entire length of the wall from ceiling to floor, to catch'the reflection of windows opposite. Odd pieces of furniture in old ivory ana | gold held priceless lamps of Chi- | nese porcelain and expensive smck- | Ing accessories.
uard who walked up and down
roughneck, the penitent handler, and the dignified ntleman from Boston. “Honest, Syb,” he said affably, ving a cold chicken drumstick, “you'd have died ‘laughing at that old duck. Never touched a drop of liquor in his life, so he said. Just had an attack of vertigo last night. He'd met a few business acquaintances in the Village and they offered him some nice lime drinks. Delightful drinks, he thought. The
| next thing, he found himself out in
the street beating up a cop with his cane. ‘I was just walking down the street,’” Philip mimicked with a grin, “ ‘when I felt an attack coming on. And this officer insisted that I was intoxicated. He insulted me. I tell you, when I get back to Boston—’ Oh, when he gets back to Boston, he’ll have the Governor down to demand an apology.” Philip laughed at the memory. “The devil of it was,” he continued, “I think the old boy was sincere. Those old friends of his must have had a rare time spiking his lime drinks.” : x 2 = HE an hour later, Sybil said cautiously: “Uncle John was upset about it, Philip.” Philip's good humor faded. “Don’t talk Uncle John to me tonight,” he snapped. “I'm getting fed up with his interference. I don’t need him telling me how to live . . .” Sybil sighed. “That's just the trouble, Philip. We do need him, very badly. I've a stack of bills now that are two months overdue. And I hate to remind you—" “Don't bother! I remember, well enough. Sam Bowser has my I. 0. U. for two thousand and he’s getting nasty about it. Well, let me handle Sam Bowser . . .” Sybil shrugged, eloquently. Philip couldn't handle Sam Bowser, nd she knew it as well as he did. And if Sam Bowser went to Uncle John, it would be difficult. Rubbed the right way, Uncle John signed checks
with an ample hand, but get his
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back up and he was as hard as the rock of Gibraltar.
» 2 »
Sybil pursued tact“I'll make a bargain
“YYYHILIP,” fully, with you.” He looked at her . suspiciously. “What is it?” “I'll settle with Sam Bowser, I'll give him something on account and security for the rest. And if you'll do something for me, I'll give you $50 a week extra and expenses. It will take you out of town, too, so you won't have to face Uncle John. I'll tell him you've gotten a job, and by the time you get back, he’ll have forgotten all about this.” “What do want. me to do? And where do I go?” “Chicago.” “What for?” He offered her a cigaret, took one himself. “To do a little detective work.” “Detective work? On what?” He held the match for her.
" " " :
YBII, drew in the flame, inhale S deeply. “I want you to find out something about Uncle John’s secretary—Miss Barrett.” Philip blew out the match impatiently. “Oh, Syb, what's the use of doing anything like that? Gee, I know how you feel, but there's nothing we can dig up about her in Chicago.” “I have reason to think that there is.” “What do you mean?” “I know—and never mind how 1 found out—that there's something in her background which would not make a very pretty story.” Philip raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “And you think that would finish her with Bob?” “That depends upon what it is. But there’s another angle for us to consider, Uncle John seems to be as much infatuated with her as Bob is, and he wouldn't be the first old man to leave a fortune to his secretary. A nice mess that would leave us in, Philip.” Philip smoked in silence for a moment. Presently he asked: “How do you expect me to go about it?”
(To Be Continued)
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TR WILLIAMS 4-26
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iis ‘MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1957 FLAPPER "FANNY
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IGHTY Dan Laroche came upon the man at Deadman’s Bog. Dan knew the North—cold, cruel, and unrelenting. The strang-
er was half starved, half frozen—a fearful sight. . A hurried search of his person revealed a hunting knife, a huge roll of hills, and a gold watch with some wording on the case. That was all. Another amateur trapper! Dan smiled grimly as he knelt beside him. Winter comes quickly in the North, snatching the lives of unsuspecting strangers caught within its icy grasp but, when Dan arose; it was with the unmistakable look of a man who had come to a great decision. “It might be done,” he muttered, half aloud, although the words carried no conviction for, even then, he hopelessly scanned the piling drifts, as the biting snow cut his face like sand. The Arctic prairie was in the throes of its first fall blizzard. Not daring to hesitate, lest the fury of the storm should alter his resolu-
n » o HE only striking note of color | in the room was a huge vase! of deep red roses, kept fresh through | the thoughtfulness of Uncle John. | which stood on a table in front of | an enormous triple window. i Uncle John did not like Sybil's | living room. He often intimated | jokingly that its absolute perfection made him feel uncomfortable. One day, he told her, the room would learn that he'd been raised in the degradation of a mining | camp and it would freeze him to death for bespoiling it. Shortly before 1 o'clock Sybil heard Fhilip turn in at the driveway. She went to the window. watched him put the car in the garage and heard him slam ‘the doors violently, Evidently his day in jail had not left him in a very bright frame of minds She hurried to the front door to let him in. She wished she had asked Jennings to prépare some sort of a supper. In all probability Philip hadn't eaten all day. However, she could fix up something for him, A » ” 8 * ELLO, Philip,” she greeted him flatly. | He looked up scowling, and did not return her greeting. Sybil + closed the door behind him. “I'm terribly sorry—’ she began. Philip's scowl deepened. "You should be!” he said scornfully. “That was a fine i you let the
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old man pull.” “I didn't know a “thing about it until this evening, Philip. Why didn’t you call me instead of Uncle John?” | “I didn't call anybody, ‘ Those silly cops went through my pockets, I suppose, and found his lcard. Then the opportunity of talking to the great John Hendry was too much for them to pass up. I|don’t know what he told them, but| today they wouldn’t let me make agother call.” Sybil helped him out lof his coat. “Did you have anything to eat?” she asked solicitously. “Eat! Don’t be silly. I want to eat that trip out?”
why would they hand !
nn 9 \ “(OME on, then. Il find you { something.” She led the way toward the kitchen. ° “I need a drink first,” he grumbled. ; “All right” She opened -cupboard doors, brought out a few dishes. “Where does Jennings keep the Scotch?” she asked. “First shelf, at the right,” Philip offered. Sybil took it down, poured out a generous portion, then went to the refrigerator for ice cubes. “Here's almost a whole chicken,” she observed, and a bottle of milk. Want me to make coffee, Philip?” “No. I'll take the milk, Got any tomato juice?” “Half a jar of it, all nicely chilled.” Gradually, as the drink took effect, his spirits rose. He attacked * the chicken eagerly, forgetting for ~ the while that he bore a grievance. Soon he was telling Sybil about his . day in jail—about the flatfooted
tion, and realizing that every moment lost increased the odds against him, Dan took hold of the halfconscious man and, heaving. him onto his massive shoulders, headed straight into the storm.
2 2 s
VER a desert of drifting snoy, on through the swirling flakes, trudged the 51-year-old trapper. Occasionally, he halted to rest and to consider the condition of his charge. : At each stop, Dan would bend anxiously over the man and whisper, “Ya feelin’ better?” He did not expect an answer, nor did he ever get one — only the man's strained breathing in the frosty air — but there was comfort even in futile
-words.
Then, after stamping his feet and fiercely flinging his numbed arms about to stimulate the circulation, Ban would again take up his burden and continue the tramp.
” ” "
S he made his way over the 4 Snowy dunes, he felt like a cur trying to do a St. Bernard's job. His past had been one long record of shameful misdeeds. Twenty-five years ago, at Peace River, he had deserted his bride of seven months. He had taken to drink as a blotter takes to ink. He had spent six months in the Loon River jail for having robbed a half-breed. And then, under an assumed name, he had come North. Only once in the past ten years had he been inside a mission. The priest had said something about there being no atonement for many of our crimes. The words had lashed his guilty soul like the thongs of a rawhide whip, and he had carefully avoided any repetition of the ordeal. But, now, as he trudged along with his human burden, a new light shone in his eyes. His soul ~expanded with every step, though his massive frame quivered under the weight on his shoulders and from the incessant lashing of the storm. » un ” NCE again, “Feelin’ better?” Almost tenderly, pathetically. No answer. Never an answer. A close examination told Dan his man was in a perilous condition. And then, there was a new danger— danger that he himself would succumb to the storm. His hands were growing numb. It was impossible to keep up circulation'in the quickly lowering temperature. Hastily, he shouldered his burden again, and staggered on through the ever-deepening drifts. His almost superhuman strength was fast giving out. Long icicles hung from his ponderous mustache. A white patch on his right cheek was spreading rapidly. He viewed with dismay the mounting snowdrifts, and ‘his chest heaved as he lunged through them, frost gnawing at his lungs. Finally, an involuntary sob broke from his lips, and his knees almost buckled under him. Yellow Knife Creek! Another half mile to La Crosse Pos. Could he make it? |
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HE sharp wind lashed the small dry particles of snow with a fury that burnt his face. He looked once more at his protege. The man’s face had taken on a ‘grim look. But he was still alive. Dan struggled on. 2 At last, through the swirling snow, the lights of the Post! There would be wonderment indeed at the settlement. They knew him there for what he was. No one would have expected anything heroic of “Whiskey Dan” Laroche. However, no one knew, or would
ever know, that his real name was!
Albert St. Cyr, left behind in the Peace River country many years ago. In the North, a man’s past is his cwn. ; 2 ” ” LONG - FORGOTTEN prayer was on mighty Dan’s lips as
he blindly stumbled through the
last few yards of what seemed like mountains of snow. The men at the fort fell back in incredulity -as he staggered in. Dan Laroche— Whiskey Dan! Risking his life to rescue a man in such a storm! Dan laid down his half-dead burden. “Who is it?” queried Brenson, the mail carrier. “Albert St. Cyr Jr.,” Dan gasped. “It’s on his watch.” . : But no cone heard his muttered words, “Albert . .. the son I never saw.” He was looking at his frozen hands—the price he had had to pay. “But I did it—I brought him in!” he whispered. Someone had discovered the bills and the watch—was reading aloud from the watch case: “Albert St. Cyr Jr. from his mother on his 18th birthday Peace River, June 14, 1929.” “St. Cyr!” broke in Sergearit Allan of the Mounted Police. “Albert St. Cyr was robbed and murdered at Black Lake four days ago. That watch is part of the spoils, and that man is the killer!”
THE END
(Copyright, 1937, by United Feature Syndicate. Inc.)
The characters in this stéry are fictitious.
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