Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 August 1938 — Page 14

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aead.

-a split second. “Hear what?”

‘ words for him, her face sobering. “Don’t be jealous,

and hasn't a thin dime, He doesn’t

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FINISH

By Charles Parmer

CHAPTER ONE

OU may think I'm crazy,” the girl was pleading to be understood, “but I'm not sure I want to take your offer.” 2 The publisher’s eyes narrowed. He said suavely, “Perhaps there’s something else you want. Surely it isn’t nore money?” “No.” Linda Gordon shook her “And I do want to be staff writer on your magazine; it's a lifetime chance. But—” "The big man across the desk leaned forward. “But what?” She wanted to go ‘home! She was fed up with the fight and rush and loneliness of the city. She wanted to go back where people were neighborly—wanted to return to her Blue Grass; to hear the neigh Of : stallions; to see lovely brood mares - walking - with their foals. Wanted to— Abruptly she got up, smiled, and the strained look fled from her face. It was a gorgeous smile of dimples and blue eyes under golden locks that she turned on him. “Shall I call you later in the day—give you

-my final decision?”

The publisher rose slowly, but thought quickly.” What was behind this girl's indecision? He was giving her the chance of a million years; was fhe holding him up? Well, better men had tried that. Or was she upset by a love tangle? He didn’t want to lose her. She had originality and imagination, coupled with a great driving force. And she could write. She would be valuable to him. But business was still business. He said: : “Our offer is open until 6 o'clock, Miss Gordon. We are putting the book to bed tonight; I'll be here until then.” 2 = =

ACK in her little apartment on West 11th St, where for months she had dreamed of this chance, she upbraided herself harsh-

"ly. “You fool!” she spoke, looking

at the black Scottie stretched by her chair, “you've been sobsister and feature writer and free lance—no, not you, Jerry!” she called hastily to the dog, who was taking her words as a personal affront. Jerry moved off with dignity—and didn’t return. This publisher—he had a mean streak in him; maybe by 6 o'clock he would change his mind; then where would she be? At half-past 5 a special delivery letter was handed to her; a letter from old Uncle Sandy, who had been father and mother to her. Must be something unusual for him to spend 10 cents on a special delivery. She ripped the envelope open, began reading. Then fierce hatred burst inside her—hatred against circumstances; for that letter virtually called her home. Uncle Sandy was sick and in money trouble. He had no one else in the world to appeal to; she'd have to go to him—if there was a spark of decency in her. And she didn’t want to go at all. That indecision —that homesick longing—it was just a moment's whim. She wanted to stay here, to lick New York!

Why should it be at this exact moment, as the hands of the clock | neared 6? : But she had to go. It would he a harshe return; not to a pillared | mansion, but to a small frame house on a by-road; where an old sick man was reliving in memory | his great moments on the turf. | She was pacing the floor, when | the bell rang. Savagely she pushed | the release button. She heard the tramp of strong and familiar steps, then the usual brisk rap on the door; another rap, as though eager for instant admittance.

HE threw the door back. A tall and broad-shouldered cyclone, topped by early-gray hair, burst in, shouting: : “Did you hear it over the radio?” “Oh, hello”—she was confused for

“Say! Have you forgotten about Merry: Maid?” “Oh, yes, Mefry Maid. Sit down, Monte.” She slumped into a chair, but Monte Hill remained standing, looking down at her with concern. “Have you forgotten? Merry Maid running in the Juvenile Stakes at Belmont today?” “Oh, yes. I guess she won?” “And how! Tow-roped the field from the start; came within a second of the track record! But look here—what’s happened?” She shrugged her shoulders. Then tried to smile. “Oh, nothing, Monte. Do sit down—tell be sbout it.” “I'm sorry,” his voice was less buoyant, “I was so filled with my— with Merry Maid's importance, that I didn’t think of you. Look here,” he reathed down, took her nds. “What's hurting you—tell a fellow?” She pulled her hands loose, shook her head. “It's nothing, Monte.” Her eyes strayed to the clock. Eight minutes to 6. “Wait—iill I nhone. Then I'll tell you.”

She dialed a number, called over [¢

the transmitter, “I'm turning down Moss’ offer.” “What?” He wheeled around, boyish surprise showing on his wind-swept face. “That's great! Now we’ll marry—TI’ll take you away from this grind—I've got the money —Merry Maid won $650 ior us today. At last she forked the instrument. The man strode to her.

= 2 8 “ OU going home to marry that bum, Bruce Radford?” She threw her head back— laughed shrilly. * “Yes, a bum,” she repeated the

Monte. I'm afraid I don’t loveiyou; and Bruce Radford certainly would be the last man I'd marry, after what he

did to Uncle Sandy.* “To Uncle Sandy?” “Remember the bachelor uncle who reared me?” : “Oh, sure! When I was a youngster I saw him on the tracks. He was a big shot; had a great stable—" . “A big shot—then,” she ‘corrected. “But now—old and broke, Monte. I've just had a letter. The Radford estate has forced him to pay something he should never have been called on for. Now, he’s sick,

“Hey, mama, what did papa look like?”

FLAPPER FANNY

By Sylvia

Foy

“Don’t you know better'n to wake up a sleepwalker suddenly? S’pose I hadn't heard you and got choked on this chicken bone?”

GRIN AND BEAR IT

By Lichty

“Its the 10th left turn you've made in the last mile—I'm sure every- . ‘body in town has seen your new engagement ring.”

Cope. 1938 by United Feature Syndicate, ine.

Srl”

3-20

THIS CURIOUS WORLD

By William Ferguson

TOIMALILA, A TorToes Taken T

THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS COOK, STILL LIVES IN

ARE ROUND IN VARIOUS PARTS OF THE OCEAN.

COPR. 1938 ov ea sevice, we. 9-29

ANSWER-—In late winter, from northwest to southeast. In late summer across the sky from northwest to southwest. At times around

the horizon.

IN 1777, BY CAPTAIN GOOD CONDITION... o ALTHOUGH ITS SHELL. IS BADLY SCARRED

Tra ATED IN WHAT DIRECTION 2 DOES THE MILKY NAY CROSSE OUR. SKIES

ask #8, but I'm going home to him.” “Say! - We'll. marry, send him money—" “No!” she was positive. “But what are you going to do down there? What are you going to live on?” “Oh!” Hands clasped under her chin gn instant. She hadn't figured

that out. Then an impish thought came, and her eyes sparkled. She smiled up at him: “Monte, there aren’t any ravens in the Blue Grass. > guess I'll scratch dirt—and like

(To Be Continued)

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