The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1925-08-12
CHAPTER LXVIII
The Ride

The Ride
He drove swiftly, glancing at her
with an anxious: Are you very
tired?"
"No-not at ALL"
do you care if we drive far?"
Mold like 1t. Drive a long
way"
They struck into the hilly country
north Of the city. Soft purple
shadows trimmed with silver thronged
the trees. The yellow light went
with them, arm in arm-hurried and
was lost. This gathering Of the
dark distilled about them a penetrant
sadness. They were rushing from
it. 1t followed. 1t was every
where.
He said half to himself: "Oh,
damnabler'
The girls agonized face was in
Chickie's mind and her short, chok-
ing cry, beseeching: David, you
can! David, you've got tor
She glanced at him. He looked
down, white and intent as though
answering her thought: Il couldn't
do a thing-not a thing. If ever
wanted skill"
Gould any skill do more? You
did everything-everything-"
He drew a sharp, hard breath: i
suppose so. Nothing could be
DONE
He drove more slowly.
He lit a cigaret, it burned slow
ly. down to the edge, imputed.
And if it lived the brain might suf-
fer. Most probably could. But I
know how this will get them-I've
known them years. They thought
theirs was the only child ever born.
They were foolish about 1t. 1 sup
pose Beth thought I could save it"
He spoke in a questioning way,
looking at her eagerly as though
asking a confirmation of his own
knowledge. It touched her as when
he stood, white and spent at the
door, leaning in that attitude Of ex-
haustion.
She said softly, her eyes brim-
ming: mo one could do more.
They know it. You were wonderful
to them"
1.-THE horrible part Of a thing like
this is the blame she'll take to
herself"
"Oh-how can she-how could
she know" Suddenly Chickie fan
cied the girl picking up the baby,
laughing at it, putting its soft
cheek against her own as she
started down the stairs, then that
soulless moment, the blind plunge
downward-the little thing crushed
and broken in her arms.
Tears flashed into her eyes. She
said in a swift, unthinking impulse:
IT thought I knew what pain could
be"
"Yes?"
ooh, yes-but such pain can be
endured-it must be since one has
brought it to himself. but this is
so causeless-so without purpose.
That makes it intolerable-just
fendish-"
He was looking at her. She said
eagerly: How could she deserve
such a thing? How could any one?'
Freud says there is no such thing
as an accident. Nothing is cause
less Even a thing like this we
bring to ourselves. We are answer
able for all that happens to us. The
subconscious mind directs us when
the things we call accidents hap
pen"
Chickie's lips parted in a gasp of
denial: You don't believe that?
What a beast the subconscious mind
must be and what an enemy to our
better thought. Do You believe it?''
"No-there's too much guess about
it. But we are responsible for
many things that seem accidental"
THAT sounds so hard"
1T Is hard 1t is much more COM
forting to blame some remote imper-
sonal fate"
But in a case like this-oh, sure
ly-surely-"
mot in a case like this-of course
not-you said a moment ago, Helen,
that pain can be endured when we
have brought it to ourselves. How
does that make it easier? 1 should
think that would weight the load"
! She turned her eyes to the tree
tops and then to pearl white cloud
drifting like boat on some forgot
ten sea. And she said quietly: 1T
doesn't lessen pain. But 1t strength.
ems endurance-or it should We
ought to be brave, anyway, to take
the consequences we have courted.
Oh. David-don't you think that
She was unconscious of the name
she had used, but 1t flew into his
mind warmly, thrilling like a bird
song.
Her face was uplifted, the pale
glow from the moon made 1t un-
earthly in its delicacy. She seemed
a spirit, star-like in beauty. When
her eyes sought his, smiling: "Da-
vid-you think that?" he leaned for.
ward and reached out his arms.
But she went on, her voice drop
ping to a distant murmur: 1--WE
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