The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1929-09-05


| to be a good kid.
Had he overdone it, wiped out for
ever the chance to shape her destiny
to suit his own ends?
His uneasiness was reflected in the
reckless speed with which he drove
through the night.
But damn it all, she's perfect,
he said aloud, as though he had to
justify his course to his inner judg-
ment. She's as convincing as a
eve lamb, absolutely above suspi-
cion."
The last conclusion ended in his
mind. 1t was not Leonard Brent's
habit to give free voice to his
thoughts.
But, pleased as he was with the
results of his plan to bring up a
former partners daughter in re-
fined surroundings, he carried a
doubt to bed with him that night.
He couldn't shake off the feeling
that it was not going to be easy to
orient Helen into the ways of her
father.
The important engagement he
had spoken of to her slipped his
mind entirely before he reached the
city. And in the morning he found
it necessary to telephone an explain
alton. His excuses were accepted
and another appointment was made.
Brent wouldn't have bothered, but
this woman had been useful to him
in the past. Soon he expected not
to need her, but it would be unwise.
he reflected, to let her know that
| too abruptly.
! A T z that night he started to
L n her apartment to dine with
her. On the curb before his hotel
he raised his arm to signal taxi:
then changed his mind. The balni-
ness of the weather tempted him to
walk. 1t was not far, but his direc-
ton lay crosStown, bringing him to
less fashionable thoroughfares than
the one he had left.
About half way to his destination
the weather changed abruptly as it
will in New York and a Spatter of
raindropS warned of a shower to
come. Brent stopped and looked
about for cab. There was none
in sight.
While he stood waiting, knowing
that one would undoubtedly be
along presently, he was approached
by a vagrant with plea for a
| dime.
Brent was about to toss over a
coin to the bleary-eyed wretch when
third figure doomed upon them, a
majestic parsonage in blue, with
brass buttons.
None of your panhandling now,
old man." he ordered crisply. BE
off with yez"
The old fellow shuffled away,
obedient to the law. The officer
turned to Brent. Looks like rain"
he commented good-naturedly.
Brent nodded. The officer moved
on, turned the corner. Brent faced
about, to look in the opposite
direction for cab. He saw, a few
buildings down the street, the
beggar Stagger, right himself, go on
a step or two and then collapse into
a convenient doorway.
Brent hesitated. A nuisance to
bother with it. But the rain was
coming down heavier. Might as
well take a look at the old bum
while he sought shelter.
He moved, hurried a bit by the
fall of raindrops, down to where
the old man lay inert in his dirty
rags. Brent would not touch him.
With his cane he pushed away the
hat that half obscured the gray
white face.
Another guest for the morgue
he thought. Well, somebody else
could discover him and bother with
it. He turned to go. A faint
sound checked him. When he
looked back the old fellow had
stirred. And he was moaning
weakly.
Brent stopped over him. Come
out of it" he snapped unfeelingly
The moaning ceased and Brent
Strengthened up, having decided to
be on his way.
The PROSTATE man stirred again,
moved his arm, and Brent saw that
something had fallen out Of his tat
tered shirt. something tina cleaned
duly in the fading light.
On an instinct that he did not
stop to analyze he stopped to pick
it up. There was a string attached
to it, string that led round the old
mans neck