The Courier News from Blytheville, Arkansas on April 23, 1937 · Page 6
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The Courier News from Blytheville, Arkansas · Page 6

Blytheville, Arkansas
Issue Date:
Friday, April 23, 1937
Page 6
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six (ARk.y cotrftiBn Teeth Are Brushed; Then a Bedtime Sto FfcJDAY, .APRIL 23~ 1937 liu ) Now there Is a final washing of necks, scrubbing or cars and combing or Imlr US been a long imcl busy 'day. and it Isn't 'surprising to sec a sleepy droop to Yvonne's head us Nurses O'Slmuglinossey and Noel prepire her and Ceclle for bed. -Notice iho,neat white little, "dressing tables where all tliclr toilet'articles are kepi in orderly. array. ;..' • ' ; , Before bed, However, comes the regular. "toothbrush drill" and here's Yvonne showing you just how Uie quins keep their teeth clean and white. Long since, the quins have learned lo lake proper - ', • cure of their teelh by regular brushing. Now bedtfnip drat s neai, for Us after 6 p M nt the Dionne nursery The children gather quietly to- a last bedtime itoiy told by Nurse Noel. Emilie, ut left, Is the only one whose attention has strayed Yvonne, Annette, Ceclle ;and Marie are all • Intent on the old French fairy-tale that . Is being un• • ' folded by the nurse in their native tongue. CAST OK Cl!AKA«;i'Kn.1 I JOHN HKN'miy,- mln!a|r lnTt»t- ••.cut fcrad. - Itpn ANimftWS, Itrnilry'* ju- • Icr pnrfnrr nud Jn*n'M flaBev, > SYUir. lIKNimy, Hticlnllle, Jukn >ltndr7'A nlrcv *nd Jnan'a rival In t»Tr I'.llll. IP HE!VD«Y. Sjall'. fcrolkrr- U H 110 THY STAHKR. Jono'a Klrlkoul frlc.J. ciiAiii.i:* jvcmTo.v, c«monii« •alnlBif promoter. "1'rilerdari Sybil revraU lirr jralou»r of Joan ant 'her fear Ihftt Uoh wlll.mnrrr Chi. "Jc.lgnlns "" CHAPTER I! ""THE boys in the orchestra picked up their tiny megjphones and harmonized the chorus of their song. Lights, foi the moment, were seductively dimmed. The wildly spirited tone of,the music gradually became tendei. Unconsciously, the >ounger dancers preated their (hceks a little closer, the older men tightened their hold about matronly waists, Bob Andrews, skirting the edge of the floor, maneuvered his parlnei through an arched doorway onto a quiet side porch. /'There'" he said with satisfaction, "It's good to jet out orthat dm . ." 'The music is perfect, Bob,' Joa-i corrected. "Majbe so. But I was crazy to bring jou here tonight " His eyes worshiped the clear- cut profile of her face, the proud lift of her :hln, and his heart quickened to this chance of being along. Joah raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Why'" she asked smiling up at him "Don't your neighbors like me'" "Like jou!" They walked over to the porch railing Below^them on the terrace, the evergreens festooned with gay red and greer and yellow lanteins, gleamec brightly, arid the reflection of the lifihts.lent a-glovv of colorful enchantment to the porch. "Like you!" Bob repeated, linking her arm more tightly in his "Every man in the place is ready to cat me alive for keeping you to myself this way." Still looking down at her, h< caught the beauty of.that momen mirrored in her wide blue eyes. "Joan, darling," he said with In 1 finite tenderness, "do. you knov that you're the loveliest girl in al the world?" "No. But I know that I'm th happiest—tonight." She smilec wistfully, "Won't you share it, my dear? .Joan dropped her eyes under hi intense gaze. "I could be the happiest man i. the world tonight," he went on "You could make me, Joan." , ,When she did look tip, ther '-.were tears glistening on her eye lashes. "Bob, my dear! It's so imposs 1 ble—so utterly—" r ''Impossible to love me?" ; * • • CHE started, and, for one brie '^instant, he read the answer i her eyes. Then his arms wer about her, his lips seeking her At first she struggled against him slowly, in resignation to il °PP e <* '«l>'»i>ll)>,' looking ovir his.shoulder 'h- Tvard the doorway., Sybil Hcndry ihod behind thetti. and' her c'yss fere cold as Arctic ice. •••••••••• • ...... ess • stillness. Then,', -from - fa; hove .them,, the, clock in tin teeplc of the Inn struck one. * t • TOAN slipped out o( Bob's arms; she held him off at arm's length as she spoke to him. "Bob," she said chokingly, "I'm >eing caught in some magic spell. I mustn't let it overcome me. I cannot marry you. No matter how orce stronger than her"will, she 'ave herself up to the full ecstasy if his embrace. Inside, the music struck a live- ier note; ,the dancing became more spirited; voices were raised n a babbling confusion. But here in the liny porch, there were only .wb people in all the world; two vho had just discovered the an- wer to the everlasting mystery of life. After a moment, he released ler. She drew back, frightened at herself, and caught her breath sharply. Her eyes, as she looked up at him, were wide and fearful. "You do love me, Joan. Don't try to deny it." "Oh, Bob, please listen to me. I can't love you. I mustn't. Won't you understand? I couldn't ever make you happy . He shook his head, contradicting her words. He smiled joyfully down at her. "You have ma'de me happy, my darling. I'm the happiest man in the world, as I told you I would be. I'm going to marry you, Joan Do you hear me? I'm not asking you to marry me I've done that too often. I'm telling you now. I'm going to marry you." The music stopped abruptly. For *. brief second there-was a breath- vc feel—" "You mean there's someone else, Joan? Someone you've already married?" "No. There's no one else. It's not as easy as that." "Then what, is it, my dear? Can't you tell me—so that we can work it out together?" "I can't tell you, Bob. There's something in my life that I would rather die.than have you find out, because i£ you did, you would hate me." For a moment he siood there looking Into her eyes, trying to draw out their secret. Then he made his decision. "Listen to me, Joan," he said in all seriousness. "With all my heart, Move you. Whatever the past holds, we'll forget together. Whatever the future brings, we'll fight together. But I'm going to *n •»*•••« v/iit " marry you.' "BOD—" . She stopped abruptly, looking iver his shoulder toward : the .oorway. Following her glance, 16 turned around. Sybil Heiulry tood behind them, and her eyes vere cold as'Arctic ice. "Hello,' Sybil," Bob greeted cordially. •>'.'-. As Sybil looked ai him, her lips vere smiling, and she forced a bright gayely into her voice. "Am intruding?"she asked. 6he came forward, extending joth hands to Bob. Her eyes were n the shadows, so that he could not read the fierce anguish hidden n their depths. "Of course not, Sybil," Bob'r'e- .Urned exuberantly. "And listen, ,-ou sfi'ali;bD the first to hear that Joan Is going to marry me. Wish us luck, Sybil!'' * * *: "M ARRY >ou ' she dioked o\ei the words and hei land flew nervously to hei thioaf Quickly, however she ieco\eied herself Bob 1 she exclaimed and her lone was gay to the point of hjslern Im simply over whelmed wilh surprise! She did not wish' him Hick, she did not look nl Joan But Joan (09 frightened 'arid confused It'cr- self at Bob's irrevocable announcement," did not: '.notice . iha omission. 'I miist tell your uncle,.Sybil. Bob rushed on Know wheie h& is? No No 1 dont Prob-sbly dovvn at the bar ' 'We'll.find him.' Come i.lohg, Joan, I'm telling everybody before- you try to back put." . .. • ' • Inside, -the orchestra ; began "Auld Lang Syne," and the dancers were forming themselves inttv an enormous circle to slrig the refrain. Merry voices, called out cheery greetings to special acquaintances, and friendly hands reached out lo draw elusive stragglers into the singing circle. Sybil watched Bob weave his way in and out among them, ,his arms held protcctlngly around the girl he had chosen in preference tc. lier. She saw the glad light in his eyes as he'refused to he dr.nvn into the circle—Ihe glad light which she had never been able '.a ouse. It seemed as if all the world had suddenly stopped—as if the end of life had come as well. She, was so cold that she shook like a leaf in the wind; yet in her brain a while-hot fire was raging—a fire of anger find jealousy and bitter hatred. And through the mad flamea that were her thoughts, one sentence rang out, loud and true and unforgettable: "There's something in m\> life (hat I tuould rather die thin haue Vim find out, became i/ you did, you. u'ould hate me." She had heard the words distinctly and unmistakably. Kovv they seared themselves indelibly into her brain. Suddenly her white teeth flashed and she began to laugh, quietly at first, then so increasingly loud that those inside who heard her were a Hltle startled. CHAPTER III the window of her room In' the Green Hills Inn, Joan watched the eastern sky brighten io a vyarm orange as the sun rose slowly above the hills. The streets were quiet now. Every last merrymaker had found his way home; the last echo of shrill horns and cowbells had subsided Downstairs, the Inn was ulterV still. Later on, weary porlers would view the havoc wrought by 1he festivities and attempt to tidy "Uie: lounges before early guests appeared for breakfast/ But there was time for that. The steeple clock had not' yet chimed six- thirly Jonn would htar it prfs- cnlly is she hod heird eveiy quaitei houi chjme since foui- thhty when Bbb hid kissed her and wished lie> Inppj dreams at the door of her room Happi dreams! How eisy it was lor Bob to suggest tint He did not know how terublc dreams might be Life to him wns ill sunshine and love ind faith in the goodness of tomorrow Foi him there was no ugly j tsterday which still roniiirecl in a tired mind vueliutmcs of misery jnd despair nnd fear casting their menacing shadovVs Over every hope foi the lutuie and filling each tomorrow w.lth Uncertainly and terror \ : ;!/W a 'ching (he'sun chmh slowly over the horizon, Joan remem- •"bered .another sunrise, ten long ':-years before-^or was it rather, ten . long-hideous eternities? Weeks arid months and years of dreary yesterdays, which even ; today strelched oul their memories a thousand.years into the future., * * * JT had been in California. The inn . from which (hey watched was close to the forbidding walls of San Qiienlin prison. And the sunrise for which they waited in such helpless terror had proclaimed ''the-hour when Thomas Barrett would be "hanged by the neck until dead ..." . Thomas Barrett—the kindest, dearest father a liltlc girl had ever had—but they had put a rope around his neck and hanged him until ho was dead. In San Francisco, the courts had decided that Thomas Barrctl had killed a man. He had killed a man who had been his friend, and stolen thst man's money. Joan knew, and her mother knew, that Thomas Barrett had never in all his life harmed a living thing. But the law had found him guilty and so he was hanged. Ten years ago, it had been. Bui Joan Barrett was still "the mur derer's child." ; Until two years ago, when sh. came to New York alone, the curse had followed them. Joan did not dare to hope that she colild ever escape it. There had w«t:i *o many disappointments . F.'om San Francisco, they fied, h«r mother and she, lo Sc- |5-L-_. | She l ( nelt dovn beside the bed for a moment before gelling into Give me tins last chance Don't ever let him /(now. . . . Please, attle There vvas a little mpney— when Mr Starke left her al her her fathers insurance—enough to coyer bare necessities: "In.Seattle, her mother "fouftd'work;,,arid"Joan continued high school Except for memories,, they were happy. Two years went by. One day, a classmate invited her to a parly. A "Sweet 'Sixteen" party. It was the first real party she had ever attended. She was radiant with joy. Everybody treated her as if she were a princess. Dorothy's father ^called her "Goldilocks" and told her she must conic to see them oflen. At 10 o'clock Mrs. Brown from next door stopped in to see Dorothy cut her birthday cake. The Browns had recently moved into the neighborhood. Joan did not know it, but they came from San Francisco. Mrs. Brown's eyes popped as she whispered to Dorothy's mother, and her voice carried across the room to Joan. '. . . I'm positive of it. My father vvas on the jury. The Barrett case—don't you remember it? He was hanged al San Quentin." Joan stood transfixed as the whispers flew Ihrough the room. She watched Dorothy's mother beckon to her husband and take him out into the kitchen. She knew well enough what Mrs. Starke would say. Everybody in San Francisco had said it, too. "Of course she's a pretty little girl, John. But we can't have her associating with Dorothy. It's in her blood, you know, to kill. Her father was a murderer. There's no telling what she may do . . So, a few minutes later, Mr. Starke offered to see her home. He vvas very kind about it. But the parly was not over. Dorothy had not cut her birlhday cak». And own door, he did not ask her to. come over,and see them again. * *.' * HE ne\t day, they left Seattle The} went to Denver They could easily lose themselves in Denver, where Ihere were so many transients. Transients like her mother, who were thin and weak and very, very tired, and who came for the benefits of the high altitude. But they did not slay long in Denver. Their landlady boasled a sensalional knowledge of murder trials. She kept a book of clippings. Some day she would write a detective novel. And she never forgot a face. "My but you look familiar, Mrs. Barrett! I'm sure I've seen your face somewhere!" They went lo Chicago. Chicago was a metropolis of several million people. And it was 2000 miles away from San Francisco. Nobody would ever recognize them now. Nobody must, for there WM so little money left. They could not afford another escape. And Joan's mother was too ill even 16 look for work. It was Joan, now almost 17, who found a job in one of the enormous department stores. She loved the thrill of working; she felt tremendous pride in being able to help her mother share the busden. This was truly a new beginning. But within Iwo months, Joan was all alone in the world. Wilh their last few dollars, she sent her mother's body back to California, lo lie beside the husband wilh whom hor spirit had died. QN her twenty-first birthday, she ^ gave up her job, drew out her savings, and came East. New York proved a friendly it "Dear Cod," she braved. God!" refuge. Almost immediately, arid without references, John Hendry engaged her as a stenographer in his 'investment' concern*' Within four months she was his personal secretary Two-years passed quickly, and the tragedy had not caught up with her. Perhaps had forgotten it. Ten years is a long time. ... "Some day," her mother had always told her, "a good man will ask you to marry him, Joan. That will be the beginning of life for you. Under the protection of his name, you can forget all that has happened lo us." Joan had dreamed o£ it, too.' What she had not realized was how intensely she might love this; man who came along. And loving Bob Andrews, she found fresh agony in the thought that he might discover her secret and shrink in horror from her. So for almost a year, she had put off his proposals ... The steeple clock chimed the six-thirty half hour, Joan turned her back on the sunrise and walked over to the bed. There was no turning back now. She was going to marry Bob. He would never know what had happened 10 years before. She would never tell him, and if the story came to light, she would deny it. She could never risk the thought of his lying beside her in the dark, thinking, as those others had always thought: "Her father was a murderer. It's in her blood," too, to kill." She knelt down beside the bed for a moment before getting into it. "Dear God," she prayed. "Give me this last chance. Don't ever let him know. . . . Please, God!" ;(To Be Continued); EWSW

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