The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1932-07-21
love o. MONEY .o 6: 81 q, %

had been inseparable. Perhaps It
was puppy love, perhaps it was the
opposition Of their elders, or it may
have been just for the fun of hear
ing Mrs. Casey discourse on that
Moran girl and seeing Mrs. Gala
han turn up her nose when Tony's
Stevie passed by.
Perhaps it was something deeper
With the pounding of her heart
Mona felt sudden evaporation.
She had aspirations above-wel,
above Tony's boy!
Her father rather had liked
Steve when, in his invalids chair
set close by the steps, the boy
stopped beside him, bringing him an
orange or a banana, cheerfully
hlched from the Greeks stand.
But Mona's mother, less simple
than Dad, knew what the neigh
bors would say. They hadn't sat
breathless on the edge of their seats
watching Rudolph Valentino make
love for nothing!
Stoves eyes and grace were too
reminiscent Of compromising scenes
in the movies to be trusted.
1t amused Mona to recall that
once she had been thrilled by Steve.
Steve Saccarelli, the bad boy of the
COS, later helper in his grand
fathers business, and then taxi
driver!
Taxi driving was a respected oc-
cupation in their neighborhood. It
paid good money and man was
his own boss.
However, the neighbors suspected
Steve. Too many of these taxi
chauffeurs were gangsters. And
suddenly, swooping down on Minnie
as she returned from the shop one
evening, Steve had drawn his cab
near the curb, talked q moment and
then disappeared.
There were accounts of a level
robbery in the newspapers next day.
Steve vanished No one ever had
seen him again.
NOBODY even heard of him ex-
IN cept Tony, who relayed the
word to Stoves mother, unable
either to read or write. Tony. the
ice and coal man, coming up from
his cellar like protesting gnome,
insisted that the boy was "okay."
Away, yes, but okay. Steve sent
much money home to them through
lawyer.
For the sophisticates that settled
it. Steve was in prison, taking the
rap" for some one higher up who
was sending money to Tony until
Steve could get out and take care
of the family.
Then, like other highly colored
stories afioat in drab neighborhoods,
it ran itself out. Mona never spoke
of Steve. Nor had she believed him
gangster.
Stoves last bantering chat with
her just before his cab careened
around the corner and out of sight
Mona now understood to have been
farewell. Steve had planned then
to go away.
The three years that followed had
changed Mona, but her feeling to-
ward Steve had not changed. She
believed in him, was fond of him.
Now Steve was back. What would
that mean to her? What would it
mean to him, perhaps, if he came
back expecting to find Mona as she
had been three years before?
Little drives on hot nights in his
battered old car. Trips to Coney.
Dancing on an excursion boat as it
nosed coastwise toward Atlantic
Highlands. Movies. Dancing at
Roseland.
Roseland, Coney Island! Mona
hadn't thought of them for months.
She would have forgotten Sixty
seventh street, too, if that had been
possible.
Now she hurried toward the ele-
waited railroad, wondering when she
would see Steve, unaware that fate
had decided on the moment.
"Minnie" a voice called behind
her. Minnie, it's you, isn't it?
What luck!"
1t was Steve. He drew the low
slung car along the curb skillfully
and, hat in hand, swung out on the
street, his fine teeth cleaning in his
olive face, his dark eyes dancing
with delight
The old Steve and yet a new
Steve. Grinning. Tanned. Suave.
Changed, too. A Steve who had
taken on somehow the manner of
that world to which Mona, at her
work in the Wall street law office,
daily aSpired.
Steve was driving lean thanked,
expensive car--nct a taxicab. A
soft brown hat was pulled over his