Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 28 April 1937 — Page 20

Bibi sian

RIL.20.1027

| PAGE 20 _

AFRAID &

oy NEA SERVICE.INC

by MARION WHITE

CAST OF .CHARACTERS JOAN BARRETT, heroine, secretary to John Hendry. ° JOHN HENDRY, head. BOB ANDREWS, Henry's junior partner and Joan’s fiance. SYBIL HENDRY, socialite, John Hend?fy’s niece and Joan’s rival in love. PHILIP HENDRY, Sybil’s brother. DOROTHY STARKE, Joan's: girlhood friend. CHARLES NORTON, ing promoter.

mining investment

California min-

Yesterday: Joan and Bob discuss marriage plans and Joan was disturbed when Bob left for California on a mining stock investigation.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ATER, they discussed it over a / late luncheon at the Green Hills Inn. They had driven out from town together in order that Bob might pack his things and be ready to leave for the airport at 6. Seated side’ by side, at a corner table in the small dining room, they lingered over their coffee. Beyond their table logs burned brightly in an open fireplace, and the air was filled with the sweet odor of pine. “Just when we had everything practically settled,” Bob said gloomily, “this had to come up. I had no idea he would ask me to go. Usually he looks into all new properties himself.” “You couldn’t let him down, dear,” Joan answered reassuringly, “He has had a bad cold. I think, too, that he’s getting rather old for these exhausting jaunts into the mountains. He needs a capable assistant. Have you thought what a tremendous tribute he’s paying to your judgment by letting you go in his piace.” “I did, naturally,” Bob admitted, brightening. “It's a big responsibility, and I'm pleased that he trusts me with it.” : Joan looked up at him proudly. “There’s none in the organization in whom he has more faith,” she said staunchly. “He's building you up to something bigger than sales manager, Bob.” He patted her : hand tenderly. “Thanks, sweetheart. I hope I can fit the job. I'd hate to fail him, ever.” u » on

NE by one the other diners left their tables, and soon Bob and Joan were the only couple remaining in the room. Bob turned to Joan and asked: “Will you marry me, dear, as soon as I get back?” Only for a second did she hesitate. Then: “Yes, Bob, I will,” she told him quietly. “Whenever you say.” Under the tablecloth, his hand tightened over hers. “I suppose we could be married today—and honeymoon in® California.” : “No—not there!” Joan quickly, too quickly, Bob looked at her curiously. “Why not? California’s a beautiful blace. However, a mining camp is hardly the best spot in the world to take a bride.” He grinned. “I'd have a worse time out there trying to keep you to myself than I did here the other night.” ; » ” 7 So

OAN breathed easier. “Where is the mine?” she asked conversationally. “About 60 miles east of Sacramento, Forty miles from the nearest railroad station.” “Is it so urgent that you go right away?” He nodded. “So it seems. The Bella Terra—that’s the mine—is being offered at a sacrifice now. If the owners hold on to it until spring, the price will be doubled. Confidentially, if it's as good as they claim, .I wonder why they're rushing us into such a quick sale. It sounds fishy somewhere.” Joan looked up in quick surprise. “Surely Mr. Hendry would realize that,” she said. “Apparently he doesn’t. This fellow Norton—the one who is promoting the sale—is an old friend, and Hendry believes in him.” “Don’t you?” . “Not particularly.” “Why not? Do you know him?” “I met him when he was east about four years ago, and—well, he's just one of those people I don't like. However, I may be all wrong.” He blew a smoke ring toward the fire dismissing Mr. Norton with it. ” ” z RESENTLY, with less seriousness, he suggested: ‘Suppose we forget the Bella Terra, my darling, and consider the future Mr. and Mrs, Andrews.” Joan smiled wistfully. “Mrs. Andrews,” she murmured. “It sounds so—so safe.” Unconsciously they drew closer to each other. The coffee in their cups grew cold, but they did not realize it. In the fireplace, the logs crackled with promise and the " flames drew bright pictures of the future. ; They did not notice as a smart green roadster drew up alongside the Inn and parked at the curb outside the dining room. But the girl driving it caught sight of them as she glanced through the window, and her dark eyes narrowed. For a brief moment she watched them, and suddenly her face lighted as a brilliant idea occurred to her. She got out of the car and entered the Inn. A moment later Bob looked up and saw Sybil Hendry enter the dining room. She walked toward them, apparently with the intention of taking the next table. Then, carelessly raising her eyes, she saw them. “Hello, Sybil,” Bob greeted heart-

cried

ily. YBob!” Sybil raised her eyebrows in surprise. “It is nice to see you. And, Miss Barrett! How are you?” { 2 un |»

! )B jumped up and pulled an B extra chair to the table for her. “Why not join us, Sybil?” he suggested pleasantly. “We've just finished our lunch—" «gh, I've had lunch, thank you.” She lsat down with them, neverthelass. “1 just stopped in for a “cup. of cnocolate—it’s so chilly, Se lenaled the waiter and Sybil yave the order. “I/ just talked to Uncle John on the | phone,” she remarked. “He tells, me that you're going in his ob.” plas eB He asked me to go this Te jooked at Joan and smiled disarmingly. “That is unfortunate for -you, Miss Barrett. Won't you be lonely?” “Oh, no!” Joan replied thought- * Jessly. “I have so many things to Bob laughed. “She doesn’t flatter me exactly, does she?” : . «I \mean—" Joan flushed uneasily.

SN Cen i Bar

Suddenly it seemed as if the charm of the afternoon were lost. She felt vaguely - uncomfortable in Sybil Hendry’s presence. The girl was so utterly perfect, so sure of herself. “You're leaving this evening?” Sybil asked Bob. “Yes. Seven o'clock from Newark airport.” 8 #8

YBIL looked at Joan sympathetically. “That is sudden, isn’t it? Uncle John might have permitted you the week-end together. Miss Barrett—or do you mind if I call you Joan?” “I should love it.” “Joan, then.” Sybil smiled graciously., “Why don’t you spend the week-end with me? My brother is out of Lown for a while and I shall be all alone, too.” “Thank you, Miss Henry—" “Do call me Sybil.” Joan smiled her acknowledgment of the charming patronage. “It is nice of you, Sybil,” she said, “to want me. But,” and she lied deliberately, “I did plan to be with some friends on Long Island.” As a matter of fact, Joan was a little taken back at Sybil’s sudden friendliness. It could not be entirely sincere. Whenever Sybil had stopped in at the office, she had never acknowledged Joan's presence by more than a slight nod. In all probability, Mr. Hendry had prompted this invitation; if so, there was no need to embarrass Sybil by accepting it. “Oh. I am disappointed,” Sybil said. She hesitated a moment, then asked brightly: “Will you have tea with me then—some afternoon next week?” “I should be delighted.” “Shall we say Wednesday? I'll ask some of our neighbors to come. You will want to know them eventually. That is, if you intend to re-

[ove

main in Green Hills. Do you, Bob?” “I hope to. I've had the very spot for a house picked out for months.

Sybil.” “Not at all. We're going to be friends, I know. And now—" She finished her chocolate and rose, “1 really must run along. I promised to see Uncle John. . . . Goodby, Bob. Good luck on your trip. Goodby, Joan—until Wednesday.”

# 2 2

S they watched her drive off, Joan said to Bob: “You know I lied about my weekend on Long Island?” “I thought so. Why?” “I don’t know. For some reason, I'm just a little afraid of Sybil. I wasn’t quite sure why she asked me. It seemed as if Mr. Hendry might have suggested it.” “Maybe he did,” Bob agreed. “But Sybil was sincere enough. I understand now how you feel, though.

her myself. She's so coldly correct. . . . However, she has been a very good friend to me, whether her uncle suggested it or not. Whatever social success I've had here in Green Hills. I owe to her. She launched me, so to speak. It's helped me to many a good contact in business, too. She’s really a fine girl, Joan. I know you'll like her when you know her better.” “Of course.”

Nevertheless, Joan felt that she could never feel a genuine friendship for Sybil Hendry. She felt strangely apprehensive, too, about the tea on Wednesday, although she did not know why. Neither did she know that she was going to look back on that afternoon forever and realize that Sybil's tea marked the beginning of all her unhappiness.

(To Be Continued)

Daily Short Story

OR SEED—By Charles Derril Curry

N the rain, I was nosing around near the Embarcadero in San Francisco, in the hope of picking up a yarn for my column, when I spotted the old man. He was leaning against a building, staring through the slanting drizzle. It took only half an eye to tell that he was cold and hungry. Young down-and-outers don’t get much sympathy from me, but there has always been something about the old fellows that gets me. Anyhow, I had a hunch I ought to talk to him. A newspaper man can’t pass up any possibilities—not with a column and two kids to be kept full. When I tapped him on the shoulder, he came out of his reverie like he had springs. He thought I was a flatfoot. “I was just goin’, sir,” he said hastily, and started to sidle away. “Wait a minute, Dad,” I said. “I'm no cop. I just wanted to shoot the breeze with you.”

” ” 2 E grinned, and came back to the shelter of the building. Seeing how ragged and wet he was, that

grin. of his squeezed something inside of me, “You don’t appear to be especially favored by Lady Luck,” I said. “You don't look to prosperous yoreself,” he shot back at me, surveying my topocat, which had been new in ’33. He had me there. Elsie and the kids needed most of what I could make, “Nevertheless, I could spare you a few nickels,” I offered. “I could use them,” he admitted quickly, “although I air’t plumb broke.” He took a solitary 10-cent piece out of his pocket, and held it in the palm of his hand. : ” u 2 “rT HAT would put a cup of hot coffee inside you,” I suggested. He shook his head. “Can’t do that. It’s ag’'in my principles.” He returned the lonely coin in his pocket. : “Which constitutes ‘the breach of principle,” I asked, “spending the dime, or drinking the coffee?” “Spendin’ the dime, stranger. Ever since I earned my first dollar, it's been a matter of principle with me never to spend my last cent. I been pretty low at tignes,” but I always managed to save a dime for seed ’til somethin’ showed up.” “You're superstitious,” I accused him. : : ” ” o

E scratched the ragged white stubble on his chin reflectively. “Wal, -mebbe yo’re right. I ain’t rightly clear on just where horse sense stops, an’ superstition begins, but I do know I ain't spendin’ that dime ’til some other dimes roll in!”

I could understand how he felt. I've got some pet superstitions of my own. I'll go out. of my way any day to keep from crossing a white cat’s path—black cits don’t faze me. Nevertheless, I s¢offed at his particular superstition. “It’s silly,” I said, “to go cold and hungry, with the price of warmth and food in your pocket.” He shrugged. “I ain't sayin’ it ain’t, stranger. I'm just tellin’ you I ain’t going to spend that dime!”

2 8 #

WAS liking the pathetic old cuss more every minute, and made up my mind to give him a generous handout. = “Let's mosey up Market,” I suggested. “We can window shop.” “Suits me,” he agreed. “You got any friends?” I asked, as we strolled along. “Got a buddy over at Grass Valley. He’s pannin’ a little dust. I figured to go up an’ he’p him out, but I can’t handle the rods like I used to, an’ I ain’t certain I could get there. I figured to get work, an’ raise the money, but it ain’t so easy for an old guy. Twenty dollars would get me out of this town.” I felt like staking him to bus fare on the spot, but it» was more than I could afford. We halted in front of a shortorder joint. On the window was a sign: “Coffee and Snails 5c.” I saw the old man lick his lips slowly. Without a word, I dug down in a pocket, and took out a handful of change—mostly nickels. 1 shoved them into his soggy coat pocket; and moved away, walking fast. Over my shoulder, I saw him turn .into the restaurant. I

stopped. Something drew me back.

I guess I wanted to see him enjoy the food I'd staked him to. Anyway, I stood across the street from the restaurant and watched him through the window. I could see him at the counter, washing down snails with big gulps of coffee. I don't know why the sight made me feel like a Boy Scout, but it did. I was just about to go on home, when I saw that the old man had got mighty excited about something. He called the waitress over, and they had quite a confab. Pretty soon, she went to the till, and. took out several greenbacks She shoved them across the counter to him. To say the least, that little byplay had me stymied!

2 o 2

HEN the old man left, without seeing me, I crossed over, and went into the place. I ordered some coffee, and struck up a conversation with the waitress. “Do you own this place?” She nodded. “That old fellow who just went out,” I said. “I saw him nick you for a touch. You must have a big heart.” She regarded me with a wide grin. “It’s not near as big as the mug’s who slipped him the price of his Java tonight. I gave him $30, and will clear 20 myself. Good business, mister!” My eyes bulged. “I pass,” I said, weakly. “Well, y'see,” she explained, “the nickel he started to pay me with was a 1913 Liberty Head. He knew

~—and I knew—that that coin is

worth 50 smackers. But he wanted to cash in on it right away, so we made a dicker.” And I had walked a block out of my . way that very night to keep from crossing a white cat's path! And I still need a new topcoat! But I got my story.

THE END

(Copyright, 1937. by United Feature Synd

icate, Inc.)

The characters in this story are fictitious.

Ask The Times

Inclose a 3-cent stamp for reply when addressing any question of fact or information to The Indianapolis Times Washington Service Bureau, 1013 13th St., N. W., Washington, DP. C. Legal and medical advice cannot be given, nor can extended research be undertaken.

Q—How old is the famous woman tennis player, Helen Jacobs, and is she Jewish? A—She was born Aug. 6, 1908, and she is not Jewish. .Q—When the expression “the surrounding terrain” is used, what does it mean? A—Terrain is a French word, meaning “ground.” The “surrounding terrain” is the ground or territory, indefinite in boundary, that surrounds a focal point. Q—Will a patent be granted on a mere idea or suggestion? A—No.

Q—Given a three-quart pail and a five-quart pail, how can one draw seven quarts of water? A—Fill the three-quart pail and pour it into the five-quart pail. Fill it again and pour the water into the five-quart pail until the five~ quart pail is full. There is now one quart left in the three-quart pail. Empty the five-quart pail. Pour the one quart from the threequart pail into the five-quart pail. Refill the three-quart pail and pour into the five-quart pail. There are now four quarts in the five-quart pail. Refill the three-quart pail and there are seven quarts in the two pails. Q—How tall is Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt? A—About 5 feet 11 inches. Q—Was the motion picture, “The Johnstown Flood,” released about 10 years ago, Janet Gaynor’s first picture? A—It was her first important role. Previously, she had furnished “atmosphere” in several productions and played leads in comedies and westerns. . Q—What does the name Massachusetts mean? A—It is an Indian word meaning “near the great hills.” Q—Why was John C. Fremont nicknamed the “Pathfinder”? A—On account of his discoveries of passes across the mountains from the Mississippl alley to the Pacific oast.

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0-39 |

“Couldn’t you eat more of your dinner, dear? It’s getting so I can’t look the garbage

man in the eye!”

Periodic Physical Examinations of

OV Every Employee . . . Another Vital | Safeguard for Users of

POLR'S MILK

Laboratory

Tested