THE
FORBIDDEN YEARS
by!
WADSWORTH CAMP
_ i
“What do you want to tell
ae’ What Is it so dreadful
yo»i’ve had to keep locked
away from me all my life?”
The hot eyes shut. Barbara
Jell a drag on her hand.
"Lean closer. It’s hard to
talk.*
Bat for some time after she
had obeyed, Mrs. Gardner
was Inanimate, and Barbara
studied her fearfully, but at
Mat measured the faint re
action of the covers to her i
shallow breathing; so she
tried gently to draw her back
to her Intention.
“You're really my aunt,
aren't you?”
The burning eyes opened.
"Yes, Bobble. Your mother
died, and your Uncle Walter
sume and brought me East to
JHknford Just before your
hither went to New York, and
was caught and ruined and
killed by that dreadful wo
man.” ■■ -
a moment Barbara
thought that a miracle of
hatred was about to take
place; that, in spite of her
disability, Mrs. Gardner was
about to draw herself up in
the bed.
“Don’t you Imagine that she
didn't kill your father, Bob
bie. I tell you she did kill him,
and she’s killed me, and I
hate her; I’ve always despised
her.”
Barbara put her hand on
the hot forehead.
“Don't, Aunt Barbara. Please
don’t. L won’t let you talk If
you work yourself up like
this”
“I’ve got to talk, Bobble,
liay be my last chance.”
But she relaxed a little, and
After a time Barbara said
very quietly:
"It’s only fair to tell you
that I don’t believe my step
mother killed my father.”
Mrs. Gardner had control
of herself now; even her hand
rested placidly in Barbara’s,
and her voice jvas softer and
more contained, as if in a
recitation interminably set to
memory.
“When you come down to It
she did, Bobbie. That’s what
rve got to make you under
stand.”
All the moral misapprehen
sions of Elmford, gathered in
this woman, and sharpened
abnormally by her, made Bar
bara shrink -from the agony
the long-postponed but in
evitable meeting of the truth
brought to her aunt. Through
her very quietness, out of her
mechanical manner of speak
ing, it found its way, and
made Barbara suffer too.
“If it hadn’t been for her
you'd have been better off,
and so would I. Your father
took what little money we had,
and It went with the rest to
give her what she wanted. I
saw for a long time how
things were going, and I
warned your father, but he
wouldn't listen. She had him
under her thumb. But I didn’t
know how bad things were
antil I got a telegram one day
to go to his office In New York
without letting anybody
know.”
Her hand tightened feebly
sn Barbara's.
“We talked about you that
Aight, Barbara.”
Barbara forced herself to
ask quietly: “It was the night
my father was killed?”
Barbara thought the head
moved slightly in affirmation.
“He was pretty nearly a
vary man, crying out that he
hadn't a chance left; begging
me to forgive him for letting
my little money and yours go
with the rest. He said he was
getting out, and I thought he
Mysterious Ailment
Was Open Safety Pin
Albans. Cal. — (UP) — Baby
Chariutte Ivers' mysterious ailment
—one that paralyzed the left side
af her body—has been solved.
Doctors, who operated on the two
year-old youngster’s throat in an ef
fort to enable her to talk, found a
iTiwn fch safety pin embedded in
tfi&roat. The pin, which was open
was lodged in the pharynx, with the
point caught In a tonsil.
Brass, poisoning, resulting from
p ntUox awav of th* ntn u h»
5
meant he was going to kill
himself; but he said he was
going to run off and try to
get started again somewhere
else; but first he wanted to
make sure of one thing.”
Her father’s jealousy slip
ped back to Barbara, and
Mrs. Gardner went on with
her bitter recital.
“He asked me to take you,
Bobbie; said I was the only
one left, because his brother
had ruined him, and his wife
wasn’t fit to touch you.”
“Yes, he was jealous," Bar
bara whispered.
Again, she caught the {Phan
tom of a nod from her aunt.
“He told his wife he was
going to Washington that
night, to put her off the track,
so that he could make sure,
and he wanted me to sneak
up to the house with him as
a witness in case there should
be a man there.”
The memory of Essie Hel
der, of the glass, and the
chemist’s bottle made Bar
bara bend closer to the suf
fering woman.
“He was wrong, Aunt Bar
bara.”
“No, he was right, Bobbie.
He let himself in the house
quietly, and we crept upstairs
to his dressing room, and no
one saw us. The door of Esise’s
sitting room was closed, and
he told me to hide behind the
curtain of the door. Then he
threw open her sitting room
door, and he was right; there
was a man there, tall, but I
couldn’t see his face very well;
and your father got out his
revolver, and I was afraid to
look, but when I looked again
the man and Essie had got the
revolver away from him, and
it dropped to the floor, and
she gave it a kick, and it came
close to the curtains, right at
my feet. Bobbie, you’re hurt
ing my hand. ;
Barbara relaxed her grip.
She didn’t want to hear, but
she knew she had to.
“You were there. You saw
it all. And you’ve never said a
word.”
A complaining note cut the
bitterness of the recital.
‘How could I? I was afraid,
and I wanted Essie Helder to
suffer for all the harm she’s
done.”
Barbara spoke under her
breath.
"No wonder you were afraid.
No wonder you couldn’t bear
my asking about my father
and mother.”
Mrs. Gardner’s breathing
was harsher.
“I’ve been in mortal terror
ever since, for after your
father had hurt the man and
got him out of the house he
came back and Essie and he
quarreled dreadfully. He told
her the truth, that she hadn’t
only wrecked him financially,
but had made a mockery of
him with other men. He called
her names I don’t like to re
member, Bobbie, although she
deserved them, and she an
swered back, and he must have
seen the revolver by the cur
tain, for he started for it, and
she, I expect, knew what he
was up to. Because she
snatched a little bronze statue,
and lifted it high with both
hands, and I knew she was go
ing to strike him, and maybe
kill him, before he could get
near the revolver, and I had
to do something to save him,;
and there was just one thing
I couid do.”
Barbara covered her eyes
with her free hand.
“You picked up the revolver,
and she didn’t see you, be
cause she was looking at him."
(TO BE CONTINUED)
lleved to have caused partial par
alysis.
Oh! That’s* Different.
From The Humorist.
Jones (hot and tired, to neigh
bor’s son): Hullo! Father wants to
borrow something as usual, I sup
pose?
Boy: Yes, please, Mr Jones. Me
says could you ’bilge him with the
loan of a corkscrew?
Jones A corkscrew? Certainly!
You run along. Bobby—I’ll bring it
round myself!
Pilots outnumber aircraft two to
one In 1932.
Now that the thing was put
in that way, neither could
Creighton. It is remarkable
how these sudden flashes will
come. It is equally remark
able how light can suddenly
be thrown upon a subject so
that an entirely different
view-point is inevitable. Be
fore that moment Martin had
been rather inclined to con
gratulate himself upon being
a very shrewd fellow over this
rubber deal; now—
“Yes, I am inclined to agree
with you that I’m a damned
fool,” he said.
“Come into my private
room,” remarked the other, a
different tone in his voice.
But although the manner
of the head of Ronald War
beck’s firm changed, that
brought Martin Creighton no
monetary consolation. It was
made quite plain to him, in
other words, that the loss of
his £ 5,000 was a personal
matter between Warbeck and
himself, for which the firm
could take no responsibility.
“I cannot understand you
being such a fool,” the senior
partner kept repeating. It was
to shut out the words that
Creighton took his leave.
Not another word was heard
of Ronald Warbeck; it was as
though the earth had opened
to swallow the swindler.
Brought face to face with ruin,
Martin hunted a job. But al
though he hunted desperately
—wearing his shoe-leather
out tramping the streets,
writing letters until he was
sick of seeing a pen and his
own scrawled signature—a job
for a healthy, adaptable, ex
Public School boy of twenty
seven seemed the rarest thing
in the world.
He would have gone abroad,
but all the posts were already
filled by the time he arrived
on the scene —and he was up
at six every morning scan
ning the newspapers!
By the time he had reached
his last pound-note he was not
only desperate, but sardonic.
The only thing he had left was
his life. Well—with a grim
laugh—he would try to sell
that!
But with his luck as it was,
he did not think for a moment
that he would get any buyers.
CHAPTER II
At 6:30 p. m. on the day the
advertisement appeared in the
Meteor, the telephone bell
rang. That was the last day of
his tenancy of the small fur
nished flat in Guilford Street.
Creighton had played the
game, going to the estate
agents from whom he had
rented the place and telling
them that, his financial re
sources being now nil, they
would be well advised to take
the flat off his hands from the
following Saturday morping.
“I’m sorry to hear this, Mr.
Creighton.” said the agent.
“I’m sorry to have to tell
you, but that doesn’t alter it,
unfortunately."
He had waited in all that
day. It was just possible, he
considered, that there might
might be a sudden boom in
the Human Lives tor Sale
market. In any case, this was
his last throw of the dice, so
he was entitled to a little
unreasonable optimism.
Every now and then he
would pick up the Meteor and
look at the advertisement,
which had been set with a
craftsman’s skill. Suppose he
were a wealthy man and
wanted a human life for any
particular purpose; would that
advertisement appeal to him?
He thought it would. But,
then, the next moment he
realized with a sudden sick
feeling that nobody would
take such an outrageous an
TATE IS KIND
Scranton, Pa-^ate measures in
minutes. The Jessup high school
caught fire and burned more t>an
an hour before firemen from six
villages conquered it. Fourteen
hundred cliildren attended the
school, but fate timed the fir* for
‘>}e noon hour—and all the children
•vsre home for lunch.
What Enjoyment!
From Tit-Bits.
Hie teacher was trying to boost
the sale of photographs to her class.
"Now. children," she said, ‘ just
lQUhkino how you'll enjoy looking at
2
nouncement seriously. They
would think it a hoax or
1 something too cryptic to
bother about. Of course! What
an ass he had been!
He lunched off biscuits and
i the last of the cheese, and
smoked all the tobacco left in
his pouch. At five o’clock he
decided to chuck it—every
one had finished with the
morning newspapers by this
j time. No one would bother
now. Besides, it was not likely
that anyone would phone on
such a subject; they would
write, of course, and in very
guarded terms.
He put on his hat and over
coat, when he suddenly flung
both off again. He would stick
it out for another hour or so
—say until half-past six.
Then—well, he’d go and be
run over or something excit
ing like that, since he had
but a shilling left in the world.
The weariness of that wait
ing! Creighton was essentially
an open-air man, and he was
almost crazy for a smell of the
wind-swept streets, so, the
the clock on the mantelpiece
showing the half-hour after
six, he put on hat and coat
again.
Then, shattering the silence,
the telephone rang.
For a moment he stood hesi
tant. He was the last person
to entertain any foolish
fancies, yet the air seemed
heavy. Tempted to ignore the
thing, he still hesitated.
Should he go out into the
clean and more wholesome
atmosphere of the street?
Then, sudednly feeling a
fool, he turned, walked across
the room, picked up the re
ceiver.
“ . . . Help! Oh-h . .
The words rang in his ears
like the despairing cry of one
utterly lost. It was a girl’s
voice, and it had vibrated
with unmistakable terror. The
last word had been cut off as
though a hand had been
placed suddenly over the
speaker’s mouth.
Creighton found his own
voice. j, y'
“Hello . . . hello . . .
who are you? Where are you
speaking from?”
Then a sauve, cultured
voice—a man’s vcftce this time
—inquired:
“Are you museum 10,000?”
“I am,” replied Creighton
curtly. Before he could say
any more, the other had gone
on:
“Am I correct in assuming
that I am .sqeaking to the
gentleman who advertised in
the Meteor newspaper this
morning?”
“You are correct,” said
Creighton; “but look here—”
He was interrupted, cour
teously but decisively.
“If you wish to do business
with me, you will attend care
fully to what I am about to
say.” The voice of the Un
known had taken on a harder
note. “Are you willing to
listen or shall I ring off?”
Quickly Martin replied: “I
will listen.” The horror-cry of
the girl still rang in his ears.
The whole mysterious oecur
ance intrigued him. He for
got his own miserable affairs.
“Very well,” the voice con
tineud. “Now I want you to
dine with me to-night. Is it
convenient for you to be at
Rimini’s Restaurant in Picca
dilly at seven-thirty? I will
make it eight if you like.”
“Half-past sevenl^will suit
me. But who are you? How
shall I know you?”
He heard a short laugh.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
this photograph when you grow up.
As you loose ai it you 11 say to your
self. There's Jeannle, she’s a nurse:
there’s Tom, he’s a judge: and-"
" And there’s teacher: she’s dead.”
came a voice from the back of the
class.
MAY’S NOSEGAY
Breath of old time yellow rose.
Fragrance where the fruit bloom
blows;
Valley lilies dainty aceat.
Lingering lilaos’ perfume lent;
Wild grapes blossoms' rich boquet
AU of these belong to May.
-Sam Page.
| Broadway ]
EY BUSBNELL DIMOND
New York — Not all of Broad
way drama Is played out on floodlit
stages, against sumptuous settings
to the moan of the saxophone and
the wall of the flute.
Drama in the rough, drama in
the raw, beat like a hectic pulse
In the most unsuspected quarters
There Is, for instance, that cease
less. reiterative drama called Prison
Sing Sing today for our purposes.
Recently the grey old bidd
ing that frowns down upon the
Hudson was the scene of a double
drama. One was enacted on the
prison stage by a company of New
York actors—Elmer Rice’s power
ful and authentic "Counsellor-at
Law." The other was Inherent in
the audience itself.
Fascinating as Mr. Rice’s play
Is. on this occasion the reviewer’s
fascination was chiefly focused
upon audience rather than upon
"Counsellor -at-Law.” It was a taut
house, and no wonder; for a dozen
incidents cf Rice’s devising hit
home to convicts, who spotted them
for the genuine thing in something
less than a flash.
"Counsellor-at-Law,” if you’ve
missed it during its prosperous run
at the Plymouth, in Manhattan, is
the story of an attorney risen to
greatness from the stem of the
slums. In his early days of prac
tise he had framed an alibi for a
young offender whose fourth con
viction would have spelled his life’s
ruin. With considerable craft and
an adroit juggling of the probabili
ties, the dramatist shows one how
the shadow of this injudicious gen
erosity later rises to threaten the
lawyer.
The piece is crammed with types
that an inmate of a prison would
respond to instantly through his
familiarity with them before he
was sent to "stir.” That fact was
written on the faces of the 1.800
who sat it out. From a box Warden
E. Lawes, one of our most bril
liant penologists. Joined with hi3
family in sincere applause. In the
wings hovered the author, intent
on dialogue, light cues, exits. He
had personally directed the produc
tion.
But in spite or its thoroughly
professional air and the polished
technique the show seemed, oddly
enough, a Sing Sing venture, some
of this feeling was due to the
part played by the men in gray
themselves. In the first place the
notion of transporting the cast to
Ossining had been a convict's in
spiration. Remember Harold Rus
sell Ryder? He was the fantastic
Brooklyn boy whose financial rise
was almost as spectacular as that
of the ficticious “Coujisellor-at
Law.”
Ryder a product of the tough
Williamsburg section got into the
important money a few years back
and immediately acquired a name
as a night-life spender. Happily
married, he made it a practice to
escort various pretty girls around
the expensive hot spots, his tips
for service were fabulous — $100
for the head waiter; $50 per waiter;
bus boy, $20; checkroom girl, $50;
favorite torch singers, $100 a piece.
For a while he cut a specious
swath. But he was arrested after
a sensational Stock Exchange to
boggan and sentenced to from three
to ten years for the $2,000,000
failure of the firm in which he
was a partner. During his stay
up the river, Ryder has been most
keen on arranging entertainments
for fellow prisoners. And the
“Cousellor-at-Law'” suggestion was
his.
Stagehands were promptly re
cruited from the penitentiary in
mates — a crew of 14 men all
skilled to the fingertips in the mov
ing and placing of sets. The latter
were built by prisoners too. This
offered no difficulties, since there
are a number of accomplished art
ists doing stretches.
In seating the eager audience
preference was given the blind.
They were put in the front row so
that no line of the dialogue should
be missed. Loud speakers in hos
pital wards and solitary cells
stepped up all speeches satisfac
torily.
The audience was at first sub
dued to the point of utter silence.
But as effective situations were
developed and poignant characters
appeared, voiferous applause rang
through the hall. The occasional
reference to the possibility of a
criminal going straight caused ob
vious excitement. Certainly, the
love scenes went for almost noth
ing.
But perhaps not so curiously
after all. The drama of prison is
a grim and unmitigated business.
Life there grinds remorselessly on
and the grist of death emerges
from the blue haze of the execu
tion chamber. There isn’t much
room for love.
Not from Choice.
From Answers.
“Will you he'p a poor fellow?"
“What is It?”
“My wife is starving!"
“So’s mine, old fellow, and its
rather hard lines on the poor la
dies. but it is the only way to get
that fashionable figure.”
PROPELLER BIKE
London — The propeller-driven
bicycle has made its appearance at
Kensington. Instead of being con
nected to the rear wheel, the pedals
are linked to a huge propeller on
the rear of the vehicle. As the rid
er’s feet move the propeller, that
attachment revolves and pushes the
bicycle along. A speed of about 13
miles an hour has been maintained.
Fenton Gentry, Virginia's boxing
captain, won first place in an elec
tion for the general athletic associ
ation executive bearf
M@rc@lti©dWax
Keeps Skin Young
Q«f: an ounce and us* as directed. Fine p*rtirl«» o/ ag»J
•kin peel off until ell defect* such as pimples, liver
■J*01*- 1*0 *nd freckles disappear. Skin is then soft
and velvety. Your face looks years younger. \I*r. <jlised
"M brings out the hidden beauty of your skin. T#
rentes* wrinkles us* one ounce Powdered Saxolitg
diaaoived in onwhfli pint witch hasol. At drug *tor«.
Cache of Jewelry
A viking cache of pearls, gold
ornaments and inlaid jewelry was
found under a large stone near Vis
by, Sweden, by two fishermen. Thera
were 150 pearls, 9 gold pendants
and 25 necklaces of bronze with sil
ver inlay. There is no burial place
near the spot, indicating that the
Jewelry was hidden by the owner
for safe-keeping. Gothland, the
Swedish island in the Rnltic sea, of
which Vlshy is the capital, frequent
yields similar ancient relics. It used
to be an important trading point
during the time of the Vikings and
later in the days of the Hanseatic
league.
i FOR SALE
449 Acre Improved Stock Farm |2a acre. Terms
third cash, balance 28 years 6£. Why fyecsn in
ootd country raisin# cattle, ho#«, poultry when
yon can raise twice as many for same money
neretndellgbtfulcu mate For particulars w nte
W. T. PITTS, The Land Man, Indlanola.Mias.
MISS-JOINT STOCK LAND BANK
Memphis, Teas.
Joke on the Joker
Curious humor was exhibited by
a young Egyptian at Cairo, who an
nounced “for a Joke” that his fa
ther, whe was away from home, had
died. The youth watched the ex
tensive preparations for the funeral
with great amusement. But when
the father returned home in tha
best of health and severely unbraid
ed the young ninn for his trick, tha
son was so mortified that he threw
himself into the Nile. And the
preparations for the father’s “fu
neral” were used for the real fu
neral of the son.
11 Mi 'A
At an Early Age
Two men driving to Indinnapolis
recently spoke of entering Hancock
county as they passed through Fort
ville.^
“So this is Hancock county,” one
remarked.
“This is it,” said the other.
‘‘Why aro you interested in Hancock
county?”
‘‘Well," said the first speaker,
“you see, my wife was born here
when she was a little girl!”—In
dianapolis News.
Cost Her $4.25 To
Reduce 65 Pounds
•‘Worth It,” Miss Bates Says
If you’re young and fat read what
Miss Bates of Beech, Iowa, has to
say about Kruschen Salts—if you
are middle age or old Kruschen
shows you the way to lose fat the
SAFE way.
‘‘I took one bottle of Kruschen
Salts a mouth for five months. It
amounted to $4.25 and I reduced 6$
lbs. but it was worth it. Imagine
just 22 years old and weighing what
I did. I could not enjoy myself as
other girls did. I could not get the
clothes I wanted. I think it is won
derful the results Kruschen Salts
give.”
To lose fat the safe, sane way
take one-half teaspopnful of Krusch
en in a glass of hot water before
breakfast every morning—eat less
fatty meats, potatoes and sweets—a
jar that costs but a small sum lasts
4 weeks. Get it at any drugstore in
the world—but be sure for your
health’s sake to ask for and get
Kruschen Salts. It’s the little dailjj
dose that does it
Monotony
“Do you enjoy going to social
gatherings?"
“Yes," answered Miss Cayenne.
“It’s a pleasure to meet old friends.
But I must admit that, after a few
years, ice cream and chicken salad
do seem a trifle monotonous."
Reason Enough
Visitor (to prisoner In Jail)—Why,
ire you here, my poor man?
Prisoner (promptly)—For the sim
ple reason, I cannot get out—Happy
Magazine.
It’s useless for a man to study
who doesn’t think.
Felt Terribly Nervous
Fagged out... always melancholy and
blue. She should take Lydia E. Pink
ham’s Vegetable Compouml. Its tonic
action builds up the system. Try it.
Sioux City Ptfl. Co., No. 27-1932.
