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Show ; ths KbaorabBe Unde Lancy By ETHEL HUESTON O Bobto-Mtrrlll Co. WNU Sfvlc CHAPTER XIII Continued 14 The truck pulled into the camp grounds where a space had been reserved and roped off for it The girls still stared through the little darkened windows. "Girls," Helen whispered suddenly. sudden-ly. "Look! It's the wrong rally! There's Brother Wilkie on the platform. plat-form. There's Len Hardesty standing stand-ing on the steps." "Why, Ben's brought us to the wrong rally!" said Adele. "You'd think he would know it by this time!" "He must be drunk," said Helen. Til tell him." They ran to the front of the truck and banged furiously on the small locked doors that separated the driver's seat from the body. They called, softly at first, then as loudly as they could scream, "Ben! Ben Baldy! Oh, Ben!" Still no reply. "Uncle Lancy'll fire Ben Baldy for this," said Adele. "Aunt Olympia'll strangle him," said Limpy. They climbed back to their narrow nar-row perches and peered interestedly interested-ly through the small high windows to witness the Republican rally. Adele's eyes clung to Len Hardes-ty's Hardes-ty's lean face, where he stood alertly alert-ly on the steps that led to the platform. plat-form. Len Hardesty had been on intent lookout for the sound truck. There it came! There it was! A faint semblance sem-blance of a smile softened his set features. A stroke of genius! It wouian i win me uovernor many votes perhaps, but it would certainly make talk, and better still, it would create laughter. It would embarrass Sloppy. It would show Olympia he wasn't to be sneezed at. "Here's the truck," he wrote on a card and passed it up to the Govr ernor. "Be ready with the lights," he said to the engineer who stood beside him. The Governor finished his paragraph. para-graph. Then he paused dramatically. dramatical-ly. "My friends," he bellowed suddenly, sud-denly, 'we have charged that your representative in the Senate of the United States Alencon Delaporte Slopshire is a careless, indifferent, inefficient man! Too careless, too inefficient, to be trusted to safeguard the rights of this sovereign state! We have been challenged to produce proof of that charge! Tonight, we bring that proof! ... Do you believe be-lieve is any child innocent enough to believe that a man who cannot protect his own property, cannot preserve his own rights, cannot safeguard his own interests, can be trusted to safeguard the property, the rights, the interests of our sovereign sov-ereign state! Ladies and gentlemen, on this night of all nights in this campaign, at this crucial moment, Senator Slopshire has shown himself so careless, so inefficient, that he has allowed his own campaign sound truck to be driven off under his very nose! Ladies and gentlemen this is our proof! We give you the Slopshire Slop-shire Sound Truck! It stands before you!" Immediately floodlights from all over the park were flashed on that silent tomb, the Senator's sound truck. The girls crouched down out of sight below the small windows. Spike O'Connor, stern, unsmiling, accepted his honors with a stiff bow. A roar went up from the crowd, hand-clapping, cheers; and boos for Slopshire. When the applause had somewhat subsided, the Governor went on: "Here, my friends, you have actual ac-tual physical, incontrovertible proof of our charge of inefficiency. In the fA cvf fliio toetimnnw tttV o nan V0 said of the Senator's sagacity, his senatorial watch-care of our state's rights, his guardianship of the sacred sa-cred privilege of our common citizenship? citi-zenship? Tonight at this hour Senator Sen-ator Slopshire is supposed to be making an intensive drive for votes in this state, addressing gathered crowds through the microphone of this sound truck. This is the truck that carries his valuable papers, his books, his files, his notes; as well as his loud-speaking equipment. Can you trust a man who can't take care of his own property, to take care of yours? "Ah, ladies and gentlemen, in the Holy Book of our Fathers, in Divine Scripture, what is declared to be the fate of those wicked and slothful servants, who, not being faithful in small things, cannot be trusted with greater things? Is it to him these words were spoken, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things?' Ah, no! That wicked and slothful servant, careless, inefficient, ineffi-cient, faithless in small things, is to be cast into the outer darkness and there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. "But this Good Book of Guidance offers counsel and advice for all; yea, even to the wicked and slothful sloth-ful servant, faithless in small things! Come back with me to Proverbs, and read this admonition. 'Go to the arr, thou sluggard; consider her ways and be wise.' . . . Go to the ant, Senator Slopshire. consider her ways, and be wise." Limpy could stand no more. "Give me that mike!" she said pas sionately. "I'll tell them a thing or two." And as the roar of applause died down, suddenly the tomb of inefficiency ineffi-ciency found voice and spoke. Limpy, Lim-py, standing tense and rigid between the cabinets, bawled bravely into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen! Listen to me a minute! It's the most outrageous out-rageous lie I ever heard!" Startled silence gripped the crowd. Was this a plant? At any rate, it was dramatic. All eyes were riveted to the truck. "I'm Limpy Rutherford, and Senator Sen-ator Slopshire's my uncle and there never lived a better uncle than my Uncle Lancy. This is the most despicable des-picable outrage I ever heard of!" Len Hardesty collapsed on the bottom bot-tom step. "Oh, my God, he swiped the kid with it!" he groaned. "My Uncle Lancy is the most honorable, hon-orable, most gentlemanly, most conscientious person that ever lived. I've lived with him a year and I ought to know. And he's efficient, too. He's terribly efficient I know his car hasn't run out of gas since we've been here, and that's efficient effi-cient "And he's a good Senator, too. Everybody In the Senate just loves Uncle Lancy; even Republicans love him all the important ones, that amount to anything. McNary just dotes on him, he said so himself. And Vandenberg thinks everything in the world of Uncle Lancy. He told me if Uncle Lancy was a Re publican he d be presidential timber. tim-ber. And Uncle Lancy's a good Christian, too, I don't care if he is a senator! "I know all about the Scripture! I was brought up on the Bible; the real Bible. Would my Uncle Lancy stoop to stealing Brother Wllkie's sound truck and commit thievery just to win a few votes? Certainly Certain-ly not He wouldn't think of it! Do you think for one minute my Uncle Lancy would steal Brother Wilkle's brats?" "Oh, Limpy, don't say brats!" moaned Helen. "I mean children," Limpy corrected correct-ed herself hastily. "He wouldn't do it, anyhow. He wouldn't soil his fingers with them! He's too much of a gentleman and too much of a Christian and too good a senator. And even though I'm a Republican myself, if I had a vote, do you know who I'd vote for? I'd vote for Uncle Lancy that's who! I'd vote for him a thousand times if I could and go to jail for it, and it would be worth it too. I'd be glad to go to jail for Uncle Lancy. He he's a swell guy." ( Tears began welling to Limpy's eyes. A lump rose in her throat. She struggled on. "My Uncle Lancy Lan-cy is: just swell" Limpy collapsed in a passion of tears on the floor of the truck. Helen grabbed Limpy. Adele grabbed the microphone. Suddenly her low, even voice swept over the crowd, still gripped in awed, electrical silence. "My sister is perfectly right Every word she said is the gospel truth. I'm Adele." "Oh, my God, he got them all!" gasped Len Hardesty, and started for the truck. "I have never been so shocked in my life," continued Adele. Our preachers in Iowa wouldn't do it! That's not the kind of preachers we have. And if Brother Wilkie is so fond of the Scripture, he'd better read up on that handwriting on the wall business; if he doesn't see handwriting tonight he will next Tuesday!" "Play, you idiots!" roared Brother Broth-er Wilkie. and the band swept, too late, into the cheerful strains of "Don't you weep for me." But already the crowd had moved away from the platform and was massing around the sound truck, once more standing silent, grim and tomblike. Reporters nosed closer, closer. Cameras turned on it from every direction. Light bulbs exploded. ex-ploded. Len Hardesty pushed his way through. He beat on the door of the truck. "Adele! Open this door! Come out of that truck!" Adele opened the door. Light flashed about her, cameras clicked, the crowd roared. Adele, wide-eyed, damp curls clustering about her pale face, slim bare legs shivering beneath the short damp cape, stood clearly revealed. Helen, with the weeping Limpy in her arms, was behind her. Len took one look. "Adele!" he roared. "Get back in that truck and put on your clothes." "We haven't any clothes," said Adele pathetically. "They stole our clothes, too." Her teeth chattered nervously. "We're half-frozen." And she slammed the door. Len Hardesty flung himself against it facing the cheering, laughing crowd. He was haggard and wild-eyed. The crowd, too, was beginning to mutter, almost menacingly. This, definitely, was carrying things too far, even in a mud-slinging campaign. cam-paign. And then, from the distance, came the roar of approaching motors, the shriek of sirens, the scream of police po-lice whistles. Nearer, nearer! "Oh, my God, it's the police!" groaned Len Hardesty. "Well, they'll get into this truck over my dead body!" And he planted himself more firmly firm-ly against the door of the truck, both arms outstretched, a figure of grim defiance. CHAPTER XIV It was the police a thoroughly outraged and vengeful police escort reinforced by a dozen or more additional ad-ditional officers from Uncle Lancy's big rally. The escort was offended to the depths of its being. It is true, it had not been in the immediate imme-diate vicinity of the commission of this crime against law and order. Still it had been detailed to the Senator for the campaign, and to have three girls and a sound truck kidnaped from under its nose, as it were, was certainly going to make talk. It might even instigate an investigation. in-vestigation. The roaring onsweep of motors was the noisy approach of the Senator Sen-ator and Aunt Olympia, in pursuit of their children. Aunt Olympia never forgave her subconscious for not affording her some premonition of what was to happen that fateful night. A beaming Madonna with a clear conscience and red face, she had accompanied ac-companied the Senator on his last trek; received with him the plaudits plaud-its of the crowds, accepted bouquets, and at Millsville dimpled rosily over the handsome evening bag present- oEr Tin tar 1' Aunt Olympia ed with a good deal of ceremony. She listened attentively to the Senator's Sena-tor's speeches, applauding good points, the incarnation of devoted wifeliness and temporary motherhood. mother-hood. Eventually they arrived at the last round-up, Trentfare. There she received her fourth bouquet, the oth; ers being left out of sight on the floor of the automobile. She didn't mind at all because the girls were late. "God knows they need a rest from all the speech-making," she thought leniently. , "They'll get here in time for the wind-up in those costumes looking like angels. They'll be a sensation. They'll cinch every floater float-er for miles around." She smiled, she shook hands, she acknowledged introductions and took bows, and then fluttered down in her chair with modest decorum. But she couldn't help keeping watch for the girls. Her fond eyes yearned for the blessed sight of them, in those works of art Just as the Senator was getting well launched in what was to be the climactic closing speech of the campaign, suddenly the haggard face of Ben Baldy appeared at the side door of the platform. He waved grimy hands toward Aunt Olympia, he shook his head, he scowled. Someone seated near the door whispered whis-pered to him. A message trickled along the front row until it reached Aunt Olympia. "He wants to speak to you." Even then Aunt Olympia was not startled. It was the girls, of course; probably wanting to know whether they should come right on or wait until the Senator had finished. She rose, carrying the huge bouquet, and tiptoed over the feet of the front-row front-row honor guests on the platform, whispering apologies, until she reached the door. With a big, soiled finger Ben motioned mo-tioned her to come a little farther. "Mis' Slopshire," he whispered tersely. "They swiped our girls." Olympia drew herself together into her familiar posture of hauteur. "Baldy, have you been drinking?" "I wish to God I had been," he answered, in a voice both evasive and devout. "Brother Wilkie done it They swiped the sound truck and the girls along with it while I was snatching a bite. A cop brought me in a side car." "Brother Wilkie swiped " she said quaveringly, her knees going weak. "Republicans, anyhow. And rushed 'em off seventy miles an hour to the other rally." "Where are the girls. Ben, where are my girls?" she demanded, her voice going swiftly crescendo. "They're swiped." "But where are they now? What's happened to them?" "They're still swiped." Aunt Olympia was game to the depths of her being. Even to this catastrophe, she arose with rampant resourcefulness. "We must head off the Senator," she said. "He'll kill Brother Wilkie for this! . . . Wait here, Baldy. I'll go down front and catch his eye." The Senator, working up to one of his best points, was a good deal surprised to see a pale and grim-lipped grim-lipped Olympia appear before him below the speaker's stand. Her rightful place was in a good position posi-tion on the platform. But even a pale Olympia gave him courage. Not a bad idea, getting down there where he could catch her glare. Olympia, who had a stimulating effect ef-fect on perfect strangers, was almost al-most intoxicating to the Senator. He went on, with greater eloquence. elo-quence. In the burst of applause that followed the paragraph, he glanced complacently down for a beam of approval Imagine his amazement to see Olympia silently silent-ly weeping, swabbing at her under-chin. under-chin. The Senator tried desperately desperate-ly to recall if he had said anything of a pathetic nature to arouse her emotions, but there had been no pathos in this speech; this was a fighting speech and Olympia never cried over fights. He gazed at her distractedly. Falteringly he took up the next paragraph, but he couldn't get his mind off Olympia, sobbing silently almost beneath his feet "Clap, boys," he whispered to those behind him on the packed platform. plat-form. Accepting the cue, they broke Into hearty applause, and the audience joined willingly enough. Taking advantage ad-vantage of this interval, the Senator Sena-tor leaned over the rostrum. "What's the matter?" "The Republicans stole the children. chil-dren. Kidnaped them. They've got the children." "What!" She nodded her head, tears streaming down a face in which the last vestige of rose had faded, even to her lips. "Stole them. Got them. All of them." The Senator rose to dramatic heights of which even Olympia had never dreamed he was capable. He towered to a height which was really real-ly impressive for his somewhat slight stature. He raised bis hand for silence. He leaned forward again. "What did you say, my dear?" he asked, clearly. "Brother Wilkie stole our truck and kidnaped our children. They took them to the other rally." The Senator raised both arms. Mild though he was supposed to be, the united Opposition would have quailed before his look at that moment. mo-ment. "My friends," he said, and there was the venom of murder in his voice. As for the sweating throng, this being a decided innovation in a campaign which had not been dull an almost unearthly silence gripped it "My friends, I came here tonight prepared to answer briefly, decisively, decisive-ly, every issue that has been raised in this campaign. But my campaign is ended at this moment. I shall not continue my speech. I am obliged to leave you. I have just learned that the Opposition, reduced in their extremity to dastardly deeds of violence, have stolen those three children who are dearer to my wife and me than our very lives. They have taken our children. Ladies La-dies and gentlemen, I relinquish the campaign; I leave it in your hands. For myself, I go to rescue our girls from this act of wanton depravity. Let your votes fall where they may." He leaped nimbly down from the platform and put his arm around Olympia. The audience waited in taut silence, anticipating some further, fur-ther, exciting denouement. But Jim Allpn thp Ktntp diairmnn HiH nnt wait. He, too, leaped from the platform plat-form and caught the Senator by the arm. "Senator, for God's sake, you can't do that!" he said. "You can't walk out on us! You'll offend every Democrat in the state. The kids will be all right Nobody'll hurt 'em. But we've got every county chairman chair-man in the state here; we've got committees from every club; they'll never forgive you." The Senator drew himself up. "Unhand me, Jim," he said thickly. thick-ly. "You can't go, Senator; I won't permit it; I've worked too hard on this!" The Senator let go of Olympia. He took his glasses carefully in his left hand. He doubled his right 8st, rose toweringly on his toes Jim was a tall man and delivered a surprisingly, straight, clean upper-cut upper-cut to Jim Allen's face. Jim Allen, felled more by surprise than by the force of the blow, sank to the floor. "Come, Olympia!" said the Senator, Sena-tor, gently, replacing his glasses. Olympia, even in this crisis, did not forget that she was a lady. As she stepped, carefully, though blinded blind-ed with weeping, over the prostrate form of Jim Allen, she hesitated long enough to murmur, "So sorry, sor-ry, Jim!" And the Senator led her away. The crowd waited . . . There would be another act, of course . . . On the whole, it was well-pleased. The constituents had had throe months of speechmaking and baud music and handshaking. A kidnsp. ing was something new. So they waited. (TO nr. COMlMEDi |