The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1932-02-03

leaving 1Or Jle library, WNen she
raised high in expostulation. Son
not know quite what, but that pa
meant trouble.
And trouble in the Rossiter
household meant inevitably differ
once Of opinion between Myra
s;c5siter and Molly Rossiter.
Ellen sighed, tossed back the sheet
and in one leap was out Of bed
She grabbed a green cotton crepe
negligee and streaked for the bath
room. The door was locked.
Michael, aged IL, was inside. The
one male of the family, the adored
and spoiled little brother, he had
special prerogatives and was not
timid in enforcing them.
I'm studying" he called out.
I'm the bathroom
In the tub"
He added plaintively, "I'll get out
If you want me to. Only it's so cool
in here and I'm always being inter-
rupted no matter where"
"All right, darling. Stay where
you are for ten minutes But after
that I'll have to rout you"
Ellen Rossiter was three days
past 20 on that morning in late
July-three days past 20 and al
ready beginning to be afraid that
the wild and careless dreams of her
teens would not be fulfilled in her
twenties.
It was money, of course. The
ROSTERS had more than their share
Of good looks, from Molly Rossiter,
who had once been Molly O'Reilly,
the prettiest girl in the whole of
County Cork, to baby Mike, but they
had nothing else.
n
TINE three children-Myra, the
n eldest, and Ellen and Mike
had from their father their thick
copper hair and wide, thick-lashed
blue eyes, and from their mother
their creamy skin.
The peculiar, arresting way they
walked and stood, the nervous
movements of their hands, the con-
fident, arrogant ease with which
they faced the world-all those were
Rossiter ways, as Molly, who was
a Rossiter by marriage, said so
often.
The unconscious air of distinction
that was shared by all of them was
from their father, too. 1t was
Charles Michael Rossiter who had
given them an unmistakable look of
race.
There was no denying that the
young Rossiters were unlike the
young Blacks downstairs, or the
young Riordans in the basement,
or the ShannenbergerS who Sprawled
through the two floors above.
They were different and suspect,
Ellen had often reflected bitterly, as
people always are who have a past
and no future.
But Molly Rossiter, an incurable
optimist, never had once admitted
the secret fears of her two
daughters. Even when she had her
crying spells, she always insisted
Historically that her children were
better looking than any of the Eng
lish Rossiters, better qualified to
move in that mysterious world
whose doors had been shut to them
abruptly when Charles RoSsiter, I'M
able to forget green English fields
and misty country English mornings
even in the love of his wife and
children, had closed his eyes and
died of a common cold.
There once had been money.
Myra at rs could remember sur
roundings quite different from the
down-at-heel Brooklyn apartment,
could, with a pang in her heart, re-
member the glorious years before
her fathers death, the soft spoken
servants, the CLEAN Of candle-light
on old silver (sold long SINCE, and
rugs so deep that all sound of foot
steps was lost in them.
Charles Rossiter had met Molly
O'Reilly on a trip to Ireland. He
had married her before his father
and mother and many brothers and
sisters could rush in to point out the
impossibility of marriage between
the fourth son of Lord Harmstead
and a tenant farmers daughter.
They never had forgiven him that
They were, as any one except
Molly Rossiter would admit, Scrupu-
lousy fair. Charles share of the