The Syracuse Journal, Volume 26, Number 13, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 20 July 1933 — Page 6

THURSDAY, JULY 2fi, 1?33.

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H. L. V, to D. M. Tho, bridegroom would be H. L. V. And he bad giveu the ring to the bride, D. M. ' And on their wedding day which was May 19. IM2. She examined the ring wonderlugly, turning It In her fingers. The other girl spoke again. Thia time her voice held a note of humorous sarcasm. ••You’re lucky that way. too!" “Lucky?" “Yeh! Got a wedding ring, rm that way., too." Her husky voice grew more satirical. “Lucky, lucky. How do I get go lucky?” “You don't sound as If you liked being married.’’ The nameless girl spoke disinterestedly. “Do I look crazy?" “Not at aIL Tell me—" The nameless girl paused. She wanted to nsk 1f — this talkative woman had ever seen her before. But it was hard to find the proper words. Such a oueetionwould seem very odd. She fingered her ring thoughtfully. May Nine teen th? She wondered bow long ago. that was. “Do you know the date today. by any chance?” she asked finally. “Do I know the date? Ask me?" “T do ask you." “She asks me. Bte asks me the date. Ask me now If I can forget It The answer is no. No. I can't” She sighed. She was rubbing some blue paste carefully Into her upper eyelid. •■Excuse me. Girlie, for Inflicting my dismal personal life on you. but yon asked me the date. The date is *der tag.’ Get It—der tag!" “I’m afraid I don’t" t "You wouldn't. It’s Just one-of those things." 4 “The day—" "The day I say good-by to all this. The day the big fight starts. And believe me, ft’s going to be a good old war while It lasts. The day. In words of one syllable, that I go off to prison.** “Prison!" “Yeh. But I don't mean what you mean. I'm going to be a bird "in a gilded cage, dearie, see? But, excuse me, you asked me for the date, didn't you—it’s the nineteenth. "Not May—Not Mny the nineteenth !" The talkative ]Hrl swung around, and put her hands on her hips. Her expression was a little sarcastic. “Now listen. No kidding! Do you think it's December the nineteenth? It's Miy the nineteenth. Girlie, and—" She went on talking but her audience was no longer listening. She was thinking. This was the nineteenth of May and—her wedding day. She looked once more Into the mirror. Her eves were starry with excitement. Resides the varnished face of the other girl she looked very young and very beautiful, but she was not thinking of that now. She was thinking that, some of the pictures of her jig-aaw puule past were beginning to fit In. She had been married that day to the man In the cab. She hated him. The shock of marrying him had made her lose her memory, and no wonder, „ She was grateful to the strong enclosing walls around her for shielding her from that man. She was grateful to the city for being so big and Impersonal that she could lose herself tn It AU she needed now was to rest quietly until her memory returned. ( Her action Ln leaving that man had been purely Instinctive. But she was glad that she had done IL Still, she ' wondered, was It as simple as It now seemed? She married a man she hated and then lost her memory because he eras so horrible, and then had left him. She was not satisfied. It seemed too easy an explanation. Why bad she married biro? She would have to find him again sooner or later and tell him that she must divorce him. She could do that at Reno—for this strange chatty girl to whom she had scarcely been listening was talking about Reno. "If I had the dough. Baby, believe me Td bo on my way to Reno right now." "It's easy to get a divorce tn Reno, isn't ttr “If you have the dough! But that’s a big If, Girlie." "How much does it cost?" "About a thousand dollars, including the trip and Wery thing, bat I know a girl who dl/ It for seven hundred and fifty. She had a Mend living out. there, and her living expenses didn’t

i\' 3 jBMBBQj iL '•’ wL ' ££?3ifA||'/ -’i ■ : I v K \ |.\J uoKm lA‘ W ■ jp \ "If I Had th« Douah, Baby, BaJiava »K I'd Ba on My .Way to Roao Naw,*

cost her anything." “It doesn’t take very long, does It?" “It takes exactly six weeks. Oh ask me anything about Rena I know I've been studying up on it like it was the Bible. You got to go out there and establish a residence, stay there six weeks, then file your suit. . ." As she talked the nameless girl was wondering it was a little fantastic to be thinking of Reno when she-did not yet know for certain that she was unhappily married. Could It be po» slble that the man in the cab was not her husband? Surely In a tew mo- • rnents she would be able to remember | about herself, and when she did there j would be time enough to make plans. "So it's actually the nineteenth of May today." *'l1 —I. yes. Then* you go again.* The girl slipped her wedding ring slowly bad; on her finger. The girl in the bine coat winked. —“Not an crazy about It. eh—well, there I are a good many like you. B.ihy. Be- i lleye me. then s a lot like v<>u that 1 cant se»*ni to see the i harm in the old i cottage for two Stuff with the roses ! or what have you around the door." J She leaned over and examined the i nameless girl's ring more closely. “It’S [ not a bad llhle Item to hock," she , said. . | “I think Ell threw It down the first j sewer I coine to." sulfl the nameless ; girl. 1 j The woman grew kindly and fervent. “There's always Reno," she said. She became thoughtful. “If that cheap skate husband of mine weren't so d—n stingy—Baby, there’s always Reno. If you have the dough. And yon ; seem to have plenty !" “You moan I c<m!d get a divorce?" said the nanicles"! g’rl. "It’s e:i\v Reno—sja-cially for a girl like yon with plenty <>f .-ash.’’ The woman’s eyes had dropped to the open hand big on the dressing table! The hanu 'e < girl won< , eroAota she d >i'j :n w'. rk|ii)A; she did ik> •« •■Reno'” Raid the girt In the blue coat. ••<; -d!' a- t if you knew what I have got to g«> tlirongh you wouldn’t hesitate." She mmbhsl on In a tone that was full of a r<-■■ ••.tment and selfpity. The -nameless girl paid little to-.- 1 x •••n 1 -'o woman's eyes on the bills that were visible In her purse Now it occurred to her to count them and find how much she had. As she did no * silence fell over (he small room of which the two were for the moment the only oc-upants. There were nine hundred dollars tn bills. And ’something under ten dollars in her coin purse. She closed her purse, and as sto» did so. she was aware of a certain tenseness in the atmosphere. She turned her head to stare at the other girl, and she could have sworn that as she did so the woman turned away as if to give the impression that she bad not I »n watching the younger one. Her former friendliness was washed from her face, but there was a watchfnlnras In the lines of tin* figure that the nameless girl could not understand. Perhaps the other girl did know her. Perhaps that was why she had spoken. And perhaps the lack of response In the nameless girl had offended her. So she reasoned, not In any way connecting the girl’s sudden change with the large roll of bills rhe had shown. “I’ve met you some place, haven’t IF she said at last half timidly. But the other girl no longer wanted to talk; “Doubt that,” she aaid briefly. The nameless girl saw a towel rack and a row of washstands tn an adjoining room. She rose and went In. leaving hat and purse on the tiny dreeslug table. ■ji Her feeling of depression bed now completely lifted. She was separated from a man she hated. She was la a comfortable hotel. Site bad plenty of money. She would make up a name, register under It, and try to get a good rest She washed her hands in warm wa-

ter. Then she let ice water chin her wrist and bands, thinking that the abode might restore her memory. Acold shower would be even better, she thought almost happily. She looked thoughtfully in the glass. She was completely alone. Yet somewhere surely she must have friends. Perhaps they were looking for her now. She smiled. She would remember. Os course she would remember. She turned to go Into the outer room. The girl was gone. She went to the small dressing table and picked up her hat and fitted It slowly on her head. Then ahe looked for her purse, made the gesture of picking it up. and found that her fingers slid over the smooth surface of the dressing table only. The purse was not there. It was not on the floor. It was not In the room. She walked out Into the lobby once more. It waa evident that the girl had taken it, but she was nowhere to be seen. CHAPTER n When you have just lost your name, your family (If any) and your whole collection of remembrances of your early life, the disappearance of nine hundred ' dollars does not seem as lni[>ortant to you as It would under ordinary circuro stances. Annoyance was ner strongest emo I tlon as she walked toward her lug i gage. It did not occur to her to try to follow the thief. Her mind was still trio dazed. Her consciousness was filled with loss. The money seemed only part of the general wiping out of possessions. Rut now as she neared her bags she saw that a frit little wtfinan was ap- ' parently trying to take possession of | them. Waving pudgy little hands In the air. she was addressing the bellboy ! in charge of them. “But naturally, 1 will take charge of the baggagej" The woman’s voice was lew and . commanding, and It had more than a trace of a foreign accent. She > shnigged her round shoulders as she • spoke in away that none but a French j woman could do. “Oh my G—d. But ihe Is stupid! The bugs must go Immediately to my car." The bellboy was unwilling , to let them go. I■ The girl hurried forward. "Pm sorry." she said to the little foreign woman, “but I believe the bags are mine!" - The woman turned and scrutinised the girl for a moment slowly. Her face was broad and friendly, her eyes shrewd but kindly. The long gate was one of appraisement. Then she said. s4‘Ah Doris! How beautiful you are, I am glad you are here!" And she flung her two fat arms around the girl’s soft fox collar and slender throat, and pressed a firm, wet cheek against hers. Doris! So that was her name. She hardly felt the embrace, nor wondered at the tears. Doris! She waa grateful that ahe had found a friend. The woman talked on. Out of the jumble of words, a sentence suddenly disclosed Itself : “And so now with i your husband on the seas we will have to console ourselves together until he Comes back to us!" She listened breathlessly—her husband on the seas! It seemed too good to be true. “Oh, she Is frightened." said the woman fondly, addressing nobody, as seemed to be one of her habits. “And no wonder. So young. And such excitement Come, we will get In the car." . The bellboy still stood beside the luggage. The fat little woman turned to Doris, “He would not believe I was Mrs. Du Vai. He wanted to guard the luggage welt” She shook her head. “Louis will carry out the luggage." Doris then noticed that a liveried chauffeur was standing a few feet away. He came forward and picked up Doris’ bags. Watching everything, on the alert for some clue that would unravel more of her past to her, Doria followed. A limousine stood at the curb. Docilely Doris hopped In after the little fat woman. There was not a qualm in her heart. Undoubtedly she had known this woman, and perhaps It would soon come back to her when and where. At least she would learn her own name. “Put Mrs, Du Vai’s bags in front," said her hostess fussily. Doris stared. Mrs. Du Vail The older woman had been speaking of her to the chauffeur. So she was Mrs. Du VaL Du Vat D. V. She did not feel quite satisfied. The baggage was quickly adjusted and the car started through the trafficladen New York streets “Ah. Rocky la seasick by now. n’eat-ce pas?" aaid little Mrs. Du VaL “He cannot stand traveling, poor fellbw." She tucked a robe anxiously around Doria. “But ahe mustn’t catch cold at such a time," ahe went on. She clucked Id her throat like a worried old hen. “You feel warm? We have a long ride, you know." Doris did not know. But she smiled gratefully. Rocky? Who was Rocky? And why mustn’t ahe catch cold at such a time? She wondered where they could be going. Her mind was going around and around in a circle. Bar husband was named Rocky Du VaL Re had sailed for France. That modi ahe gathered. Then the man she had been with in the taxicab had not been bar husband. Unless they had been cm their way to the boat. They had Just been married and were going to spend their honeymoon in Europa, and she had escaped from hire. That seemed very dear. Then why bad her mother-in-law expected to meet her at the Biltmore? No, that theory couldn’t bo right Doubtless It was all staple enough and would come to her in a flash. The main thing was not to let anybody know she did not remember, leot they think she tad gone craay- She felt perfectly sure she was not crasy, but ata didn’t think she could convince anybody else. The car west steadily forward. “We win get home before dark." said Mrs. Ds Tai tai tar Branch newts Doris lonaad Is aak questioM: Mr

TW SYRACUSE JOURNAL

tongue wsas tied. Os eouree ahe woo suppooed to know where they were going. Just a few such questions as that and Mrs. Do Vai would begin to think ahe was queer. Then there would be doctors, hospitals, maybe an* asylum. She closed her lips tightly. No, ahe would tell no one. And certainly one of these days she would wake up remembering everything. She told Mrs. Du VaL however, about the lorn of her bag. The little French woman was no incensed that ahe all but turned the car straight back to town. “But the police will get her. Oh. She is a bad one. She is veree bad. But I thought you had no money? Rocky said he was giving you nothing, and I should give you all? Where did you get It?" Doria flushed. Where did she get it? She wished that ahe knew. “He gave it to me at the last moment.” she said, hating to lie and yet not knowing what else to da Well, perhaps he did. she said to herself. Certainly she didn’t know that be didn’t. However she decided to be as mum as an oyster after this experience. Even the most Innocent story might trip her up with some question about her past that she couldn’t answer. “Ah but Oscar will be craxy about ! you.” said Mrs. Du Vai fondly. “Rocky • was so naughty, wasn't he, not to tell us he was married. At first Oscar was ooh ao mad. He walked up an* down. He said he would give Rocky nothing. Nothing. But soon I calmed him down because I know my Rocky. I knew the girl he would pick. And now when he sees you Oscar too will be so happy. Ah it will be like living our own love over! Such happiness!" . The small •yes filled with tears of sentiment. The stout little hand -covered hers. Doris too was filled with a rush of •motion. “And Oscar shall do a beautiful figure of you for Rocky,” went on Mrs. Du Vai happily.. “Your figure Is Just what iny Oscar loves best to model. He . . .” But Doris was no longer listening. Something had clicked in her brain. Oscar. Who was Oscar? Mrs. Du Vai’s husband undoubtedly. But Oacar Du Vai was a famous French sculptor. And Mrs. Du Vai was speaking of his modeling her. Oscar Du VaL She hoped it might be the flrat ray of light breaking into her past But no more followed. Why did she remember Oscar Du Vai’s name and not the name of her husband Rocky? Mrs. Du Vai leaned near her and patted her hand. “Ah Doria, now a thousand doubts are gone forever from my heart." Doris looked inquiringly into her face. “Doubts ?” "Ah yea. Rocky Is a good boy. I knew it. Many times I told Oscar. But when he stayed stray from home so much —when his life In New York seemed to absorb him. I will confess to you. sometimes I was afraid. Not that I ever let Oscar know. You will net give my secret away?” Behind the round glasses the eyes of the little French woman were full ' of friendliness. More than that, they were alive with love. Rocky’s mother liked her. Her heart filled with gratti rude; She clung to Mrs. Du Vai's hand. "You are being very sweet to me." The moment of sentiment passed. Mrs. Du Vai gave a little cluck and settled back In her corner. "No, no, you are my own .daughter now. n’est-ce pas? Ah, that Is what I have always wanted, a daughter." Doris felt a pang of misgiving. If she could, only know what all this meant. Could that man in the cab be Rodey? And if not. If he were her husband then Mrs. Do Vai would not be her mother-in-law. Perhaps she was not being honest. Perhaps she ought to tell Mrs. Du Vai all about It She turned impulsively. "Mrs. Du VaL I have something to tell you." “Oh, but yon must not call me Mrs. Du VaL Non. non Jamais. C’est mauvals. Cal] me mother." _

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Doria salted. “Afi right But-J teally ought to ton you * Mrs. Du Valis round little body bent at the waist “I know, dear child. Ttare is ta Med to toll ass. Do not excite yourself." “You know?* "Yes, yes. Rocky has told me over the tetephooe. We must take good care of you. Oh oaL Very good care of you. And now already I can see I you have had too much excitement for ‘ one day. Rocky would scold me tor letting you talk ao much, for talking to I you like a magpie. It is not good." I Doria bit her lip. Was it possible ! that ahe had been with Rocky, and lost her memory then, and that he | knew about It? It was too confusing. | And much as she liked Mrs. Du Vai the prospect of being taken care of was not alluring. But for her loss of mem- | ory she felt strong and well She was | not even tired. As they rode along Doris learned • several things by Innuendo and direct information: that Rocky was named for Rockwell St Gardens, the famous artist: that Oscar Du Vai lived In Connecticut In the country, and had been there for twenty years: that Doris was to stay with her husband’s family until Rocky returned from abroad. She decided that, after all, ahe must have remembered something subconsciously else how would ahe have known that she must go to the Biltmore to meet Mrs. Du Vai? The car turned at last Into the Du- . Vai driveway. To the right on a hlllI side lay the studios of Oscar Du VaL Doris caught a glimpse of his famous “Dying Indian,” a piece of sculpture of which she had often seen pictures. The way led up a long curving road | toward a big yellow Colonial house ‘ with white pillars over the porch. Way ' off to the left there were many outj buildings and sheds which Mrs. Du ! Vai said were the farm buildings. A tall handsome man was standing on the porch. He had white hair and piercing black eyes. He was watching the car anxiously. He waved with a violent, unAmerican cordiality. “Ah, Oscar will be ao happy." said ' Mra. Du Vai, as the car camo to a stop before the house. ! Oscar Du Vai sprang down the stairs i with the energy of a boy and opened j the door before the chauffeur could | move. A- warm smite on his Ups ■ leaped into his eyee. “Ah. Doris!" He helped her out of the car, and surveyed her ecstatically at arm’s length. Then he folded her close to him. kissed her on the cheek and sought the eyes of his beaming wife. “Adoree," he said, “you were right." “Our Rocky to no fool?" “Ah yes, our Rocky to no fool, after alt" Doris smiled shyly as Oscar Du Vai released her. “You are ao nice to mt But how can you toil so qnlckly?" “Bak," said Da Vai, “always I know Instantly about people." "After he sees them, he knows,” said hto wife with a slight overtone of sarcasm. “Before that, he to not so sure. He believes that our Rocky has not the good sense to choose himself a alee girt He to sure that our Rocky—" Du Vai put hto palms together tn an attitude that was half prayerful, and half playful “Ah Doris, you must forgive me. You are going to forgive me all those things which I have said to Rocky about you. I did not know you were such a girl How could 1 know? And you too must admit that you have been wrong. To tell os nothing—” "There he goes," scolded Mrs. Du VaL “Before our little Doris can step into the house he to already reproaching her." “No. no," said Du VaL “Come we will go in. Where is your luggageF (TO BE CONTINUED.) Vice President Resigned John C. Calhoun resigned December 28. 1832, as Vice President to accept a seat In the senate, having been elected by the South Carolina legislature.

Farm lands are going up. Get in while the getting is good. A home and a business for the price of a home. What is your preference? The corn belt of Ohio and Indiana? Tobacco and blue grass of Kentucky? Or the cotton and live stock of Tennessee? The Secratary-Trt—rir of your ■eerart NariMwl Far* Looa AeaociatMM. wil «MWt yoo ia your Mtecxwa. Or write to os Cor d»•criptixe pamphlet hating these fimna. We win be glad to help you to get a good farm at a very low figora, one that will gi rally increase in vahaa

It is said that Gene Tunney will sign a radio contract. Well, he ought to be pretty good on bed time stories. He has put several of the hoys to sleep in his time. We are informed that we are once more at the bottom of the depression. How many bottoms does a depression have, anyhow?

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France and Russia have signed nr. anti-war pact which reminds us again of the famous Goldberg cartoo” “It’s all right but it doesh*t ms~.n anything." n Another advantage which the hoi > had over the modern automobile that you didn’t have to fill him with auti-freeze solution every fall.*