The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1930-06-07

I Phil! On, why naQ ne WTlGGe4I
her today? Yesterday. or tomorrow,
would have been bearable, but to-
Gay. A cowardly thought
insinuated itself into her mind.
She had only to tear the envelope
across and toss the pieces in
wastebasket. To do otherwise
might even be disloyal to the man
whose name she now bore, who
doubtless was poorly hiding down.
stairs his impatience for her ap
pearance.
DUT there We also another dis
- loyalty, 'sIoyalty to the
sweetest memory her life. And
though events had proved that the
sweetness was without honest foun-
dation, nevertheless it had been
sweetness, and to it she could not
be guilty of any infidelity. She
opened the letter.
my ever dear Eleanor:
II never thought you'd do it. I
never though you'd really believe
that I was the sort of person who
would give you up because your
father threatened that he'd give us
nothing.
After he spoke to me, waited
to hear from you. You never sent
me word. But just the same I had
faith in you and believed that you
simply waited for me to come to
you. But I couldn't until I'd
made good. After what your father
said to me couldn't dream
of asking you to marry me
willie [ was still miserably poor.
When ! read of your engagement,
wouldn't believe it. But by the
time you receive this you'll have
been married ard I'll know you
were unworthy of my faith.
couldn't come to you because I'm
still a failure, still portrait painter
without sitters. And a loveless fail
ure has no place in life.
when 1 have given this note to
a messenger shall kill myself. And
in so doing I'll probably prove that
your father was right. Weaklings
DO not deserve the daughters of the
strong. But still, love YOU"
The very melodramatic phrasing
proved his sincerity. Phil, who
hadn't been faithless, but who had
merely been proud. was dying, was
perhaps already dead The
furniture in the room seemed to
rock. Then she was not
fainting almost hysterical girl for
whom melodrama was too overpow-
ering.
She was the daughter of Tom
SAWYER, who had faced failure when
his father has died a bankrupt, but
who by ruthless strength had built
amid the ruins an estate fifty times
greater thar that which his father
had lost.
ELEANOR turned to her maid.
T. Mary, don't let any one in the
room. Lock the door after me. and
say that I am resting. Mind, no
one is to come in, no one is to
know that I'm not here"
The maids lips parted in startled
protest, but Eleanor cut her short:
I'm going down the back stairs.
I'll be back in--I don't know how
long. But if it's year, you let no
body in. Understand"
Gone was the gentle mistress
whom Mary had known for five
years. In her place was a tyran-
nical, not-to-be-denied figure of
purpose, who was so confident that
she would be obeyed that she waited
for no response from the terrified
maid.
At the cost of the whole world
knowing, she'd go to Phil. If he
were dead-she wouldn't contem-
plate that.
Tom SAWYER had constructed the
Sixty-third street mansion in the
days Of his financial activity, when
it was desirable, and at times even
necessary, that he should be able
to enter or leave his home without
notice
Of late years the exit through
the apartment house next door,
which SAWYER owned, rarely hac
been used. But Eleanor used il
now. stepping into lobby tenanted
at the moment only by telephone
clerk, who fortunately did no;
recognize her.
And the crowd in the street all
looked toward the SAWYER house
and did net suspect that the central
figure in today's great social event
was stepping quietly into taxicab
behind them.
In a voice that did not tremble
even slightly. Eleanor gave the
driver the address which had beer
on Phil's letter: the Burlsngamc,
kon Lexington avenue, near Gram
Grey Park. And she was there,