Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 270, Indianapolis, Marion County, 1 April 1929 — Page 7

j, 1929.

DICH GIRLsPOOR GIRL r\? &RUTH DEWEY GROVES NEASerwctfta.

THIS HAS HAPPEN!.R MILDRED LAWRENCE, .stprmeraphrr at the Judson Hotel, has her fox fur .snatched from her in a crov.d but STEPHEN ARMITAGE catches the thief and returns the scarf H* asks to take her home, ar not wishing to seem ungrateful. shs invites him to dinner He praises her mother s home cooking ard sains favor v.i'h *' r dapper sister, CONNIE, ’ho r-ecretaiv hope that the old'fashioned Mildred will mix enough pep with her usual quiet manner to hold his inter-. t Tne evening is -pof'd v hen PAMELA JUDSON. daughter <ff Mildred employer. phones and insists on her returning to the hotel for duty. Stephen escorts her c th h<v*l v.r.ere Pamela recognlxes him as the salesmen who had sold her a car. Six snubs Mildred as a menial ar.ri a k him to dance with her. She continue , ‘o lure. Stephen, pretending she intends to buy another ear. But she becomes jealous at a ■lance and drives homo v ithout him. A near wreck brings about a meeting • ith HDCK CONNOR, who tells her he is a broker from Chicago. Connor moves to the Judson Hotel ad Pamela Introduces him to her -rother. HAROLD, who loves Mildr-d ■ ud is warped against him b. i;rr. after Hurk set bait *o trip inm in a "deal." NOW no ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER VI I l AROLD eyed Mildred sheepishJti. ly. “It docs sound a little off, doesn't it?” h.- agreed, referring to the letter Huck Connor had dictated. “Who is lie?” Mildred asked quickly. ~ ‘Some victim of Pamela's,” Harold explained. “He', moved in here because he's fallen for her, I oppose. But I really thing I'd bet:or play up to him, Mildred. Pam •von’t drop him because I tell her to, and I've got to see that she doesn’t get in too deep with the wrong people while Dad's away.” “When do you expect your father to return?” “Whenever his bride gets tired of Europe and her honeymoon,” Harold answered, and Mildred noticed a trace of strain in his voice. “The last one kept him over there nearly a year,” he added. “Well, anyway, do be careful,” .Mildred warned him. “You know we have all kinds of people here. Harold, even if it is a first-class hotel.” “I’ll make a few inquiries about this bird before lunch.” Harold promised. “But before I go, I want to know when you're going to have dinner with me. I've got second row tickets for an opening tonight. Can you resist that?" “I can and do,” Mildred smiled. “And don't waste time telling me how many girls you know who

THE NEW /As.4 Anim^.MiiiiOr BvjJnneJlustin cvm ft MA saiucuw-

“That, Miss Hathaway,” George Pruitt, artist, reproved his model, "smacks of a dirty crack. My connection with the time clock of the Lincoln Pruitt Hardware Company has been no slight one, I’d have you knpw. It's been a ball and chain, \> whicl you, heaven grant, hold the key.” “I?” Crystal turned her head to start at him, and was met with such a fierce glare that she immediately resumed the pose. “Yes, you. I bearded my stern parent in his den this morning, put it up to him, man to man, that I loathed, despised and was annoyed by the wholesale hardware ‘game’; that, all past evidences of my genius to the contrary, I believed I had the divine spark, and asked leave of absence from my hated office each afternoon for the next two weeks, in which to prove it by painting one wow of a picture. I draw a kindly veil over the scene t\nich followed —’” “I can imagine it.” Crystal said sympathetically. The memory of hfcr own last encounter with her erstwhile employer was enough to make her tremble with anger. “No. you can't. No girl as gentle as the Crystal I'm going to paint can possibly imagine such a black Scene.” George contradicted her emphatically. “If you did imagine it, even for an instant, it would show up as a dark shadow in my Crystal’ picture—so please don't try. “His mildest remark was that I was placing far too much emphasis upon my proposed half-day leave of absence by asking permission to take it; that the Pruitt Hardware Company would manage to totter alone without me if I entirely forgot to return. But the upshot of it was that if the picture is good enough to make him want to buy it for himself, I'm to be given another go at the gay life of a dissolute artist, on a decent allowance.” Again Crystal disregarded orders and turned her head so that she might look into the eyes of the young man who was speaking so banteringly of what she knew, from Faith, to be the frustrated ambition of his life. For a long minute their glances locked, and his little, bright black eves under the untidy thatch of rusty-red hair lost their smile, because so somber and wistful, so nakedly humble, that the girl's heart swelled with pity. The old Crystal never would have keen vouchsafed a glimpse of those odd. little black eyes as they revealed themselves then; or if she Lii, she would have bi idled and fluttered and ruined the moment. The new Crystal’s eyes widened and filmed with r sick tears. She turned her head away swiftly, resumed the pose. "If it depends at all on me. George.” she said gently, “you may count on id *. I'll pose as often and as tong as you wish.” “Thanks. Crystal.” George Pruitt answered brusquely. . . . "Tired?” George asked dutifully, after half an hour of rapid work. “How could I be? I'm completely at rest." Crystal murmured, faintly resentful of the interruption. "Then half an hour more,” George urged happily. “This light is marvelous. But I'll stop any time you say.” The half hour was almost up when Cherry's high, musical voice rang out from the living room doorway; "Hello, George! I didn’t dream you were here! Clever boy! Stole a march on Harry* Blaine, didn’t you? I do hope my staid living room hasn't witnessed any artist-and-model scandal. 1 /

would be glad to accept. Just go and get one.” “My day will come,” Harold said darkly and departed. a a a AFTER what Harold had told her that morning Pamela lost r.o time m seeking Stephen and dragging a promise out of him to lunch with her. Other salesmen had stood by, looking envious, while she talked to him, and Mr. Mettle himself had passed just in time to overhear Ler invitation to luncheon. Stephen realized that Pamela appeared as a good “prospect” to his employer. Should he refuse to lunch with her he'd have to explain his action. And wild horses couldn’t have dragged out the story of his walk last night back to the club in search of a taxicab. Anyhow*, he didn’t want to refuse. This little girl needed a big wise man to look after her. Pamela had apologized very prettily, and then was instantly her own assertive self. “I’m not my grandmother,” she said. “No girl can take what I want without a fight, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” "But you ought to listen to people before you make them get out and walk,” Stephen replied sternly. "I ruined my dancing shoes.” They laughed together. “I'll buy you anew pair. I'm going shopping now*. Back some time between 12 and 1. Pick you up then." She was gone, with a backward wave of a doeskin glove and a flash of pearly teeth. The boys gathered round to hand n. their compliments. Suddenly one of them who had remained quiet until then spoke up earnestly. “There’s a stenographer over at the Judson who has this gal faded completely,” he said. “None of your mama dolls. An honest-to-God girl.” Stephen glanced at him keenly, but he said nothing. He was reminded that he had forgotten about the nosegay he’d intended to send to Mildred every morning. She was the only girl he’d ever thought of sending flowers to. He got a kick out of it. Pamela had caused him to forget, and he couldn't leave the floor just now* —

“Oh, so that’s the idea?” Tony peered interestedly into the kettle which Rhoda had lifted from the stove. “You let it cool before beating it, do you? Maybe that's the reason mine was always too grainy. I began to punish it furiously as soon as it was done. Here, let me help you chop those walnuts. . . You're such a. wow of a cook and seem so thoroughly at home in the kitchen that T find it hard to picture you all decked out in jools and a blonde wig, warbling ‘Marguerite’ on a grand opera stage. Os course Schumann-Heink likes to cook, too—” “I'm no Schumann-Heink,” Rhoda interrupted placidly, sighing. “I find it just as hard to picture myself in grand opera as you do, Tony. “And just between you and me—only don’t tell Cherry, of course—l don't believe we need strain our imagination. I'll probably never be there.” “You're not getting cold feet at the prospect of this audition before the Metropolitan Big-wig, are you, honey?” Tony gibed. “You look so calm always—” “I'm calm about my singing, because it doesn't seem important enough to get excited over,’ Rhoda answered. "And what I really have cold feet over is the fear that they’ll think I'm good enough for grand opera, and sign me up.” “I had a hunch,” Tony chuckled. "You really don't want to be a great singer, do you, Rhoda?” “Maybe if I had it in me to be a great singer, I'd want to be,” Rhoda nswered honestly. "But I haven't. I'm just a good imitator of the way great artists sing. "You know how' it began, don't you?—l was lonely on the farm in Minnesota, and passed the time by imitating the voices on our phonograoh records so you couldn’t tell the difference. But I couldn't 'create’ a role, as they call it. “I haven’t the imagination, or the feelings inside me. Maybe,” she suggested hopefully, "this Metropolitan impresario will realize that and let me go.” "You have other plans for Rhoda Jonson,” Tony suggested with sudden understanding. “You want to get married and have lots of babies a.id cook marvelous dishes for your family. Righ?” Rhoda nodded, blushing. "I guess this fudge is cool enough to beat now.” “A girl doesn't blush when an abstract ambition is mentioned.” Tony laughed, putting her arms about the girl and hugging her ecstatically. "You've got the prospective father picked out, haven't you, you darling?” "Ben might not like being called a prospective father, when he's hardly used to the idea of being engaged yet,” Rhoda laughed. "It’s Ben Grayson, you know. They have the farm next to ours.” "Oh, you’re delicious!” Tony cried, kissing her. "And no one knows—not even Cherry?” "No, nor even Nils. Os course you won't tell. Ben won’t marry me if I do get a contract with the Metropolitan. That's why I don't want one,” Rhoda confessed placidly. "Do you think it would be very wicked of me not to try very hard to sing well?” “I think,” Tony said very solemnly. "that it would be a sin ag-' t posterity for you to be anything but the wife and mother God intended you to be. Life is so beautifully simple for you, isn't it, Rhoda?” she added wistfully. "All you have to do is to let your voice crack on high C. while I—’’ i (To Be 'Continued) -4 &

he'd do it tomorrow, sure. Flowers, especially the kind he could afford, seemed to belong to Mildred Lawrence. a s ts HE was engaged with a woman who was looking at a coupe when Pamela returned. “Come along,” she sang out. rushing up and taking him by the arm. “Excuse me, Miss Judson,” Stephen said politely. “Won’t you wait for me at the hotel?” He thought further explanation ought to be unnecessary. Surely she would see for herself th*. he couldn’t drop a prospective buyer at a moment’s notice. “No. indeed.” Pamela retorted instantly. “I told you I'd come for you!” One of the older salesmen, a friend of Stephen's came to his rescue. He cook the other woman off Stephen's hands with the high motive of saving a sale for him, not to take one from him. He knew that Pamela Judson would not tolerate being kept waiting. He'd had experience with spoiled daughters of the rich. The next day Stephen learned that the woman had bought the coupe. It had been an easy sale. Had Pamela been ten minutes later in arriving he would have been credited with the transaction. As it was, the other salesman shax-ed the commission with him. Stephen could not expect more, as the other had closed the deal, which is admittedly the toughest part of selling. When Stephen learned of his fellow salesman’s success he was compelled to smile over an incident that had taken place at luncheon. Pamela had handed him a small leather box with the remark that she’d bought him something else in place of dancing shoes. Curious, Stephen opened it, and discovered an expensive cigaret case within. He snapped the case shut, put it down on the table and with the tiff of a finger slid it over toward Pamela's plate. “Nothing doing,” he said, and tlvere was no humor then in his voice. “So far your reversal of the usual order of things lias been merely funny, Miss Judson, but this is too thick. I don't take presents from girls.” Pamela gazed at him a moment in silence. Stephen, saw that she was making an effort to hold her tongue. Speech, and plenty of it, seemed fairly bursting from her tightened lips and blazing eyes. Then suddenly she smiled, and Stephen had an impression that she was weighing him. She picked up the box and put it in her bag. “I didn't buy it for you,” she said. “It's for Harold, but I thought you might like it. But since you have such quaint ideas. ...” “If you want to make me a gift,” Stephen declared frankly, “buy a new car.” “If I don't need it? That would be a gift. I’m surprised you would accept it. But I do promise to buy my next one from you.” She smiled lazily, but her thoughts were agile. “Just for that I'll string you good and plenty,” she was saying to herself angrily. “So I'm only a prospect! Well, you’ll find me a hard one to land.”

r T''HE luncheon might have been JL a flop, considering how it be- ! gan, but Pamela saw that it wasn’t. ; She exerted herself to be pleasant, I and when they left the dining room i she was hanging on Stephen’s arm, | laughing at him, while he looked , down at her quite happily. More than quite happily, it I seemed to Mildred, who was cross- | ing the lobby with a dozen letters ! in shorthand to be transcribed im- ; mediately. She hurried on, but before she passed out of sight she looked back and saw that. Pamela and Stephen had been joined by Harold and Huck and that Pamela was introducing Huck to Stephen. Mildred bit her lip in a troubled manner. She did not like the friendly way in which Pamela and I Harold had taken up this stranger He was suave and good mannered, i well dressed and pleasant, but there [ was something else, something Mil- > dred could not define. She felt. | simply, that she would not trust the man. He slipped from her mind soon, in the press of work she had to do, but a dull feeling remained. She felt dejected, blue. The picture of Stephen and Pamela together would not leave her. It spread itself over the sheet of paper in her typewriter. Pi-esently she put a hand to her eyes and pressed hard. When she put it down again she saw Stephen coming toward her, and the sudden dissipation of her blues, the leap of gladness in her heart terrified her. Falling in love with him? The question flashed through her mind, but was unanswered. She hadn't time to think. Stephen was quite near now 7, looking directly at her. She smiled a welcome, trying to be coolly composed. And then the smile vanished. Her face became a blank, betraying not a sign of the shock she had just received. (To Be Continued) shakespeareTTestival PLANS ARE ARRANGED /' l nit cl Press LONDON, April I.—The annual Shakespeare birthday festival at Stratford-Upon-Avon will commence this year on April 15 and continue for five weeks, with six evening performances and two matinees weekly. “Much Ado About Nothing” has been chosen for the birthday play on April 23; the remainder of the repertoire includes “Hamlet,” “King Richard the Second.” “Twelfth Night.” “Macbeth.” “The Taming of the Shrew,” "The Merchant of Venice,” and Sheridan's comedy, “The School for Scandal.” The summer festival will begin July 1 and continue ten weeks. In it the above repertoire will be repeated with one or two more plays added. Work has commenced on the new Memorial theater to replace the one burned down several years ago, but the new building will not be completed for use this year.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND lIIS FRIENDS

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SALESMAN SAM

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

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OUT OUR WAY

—Bv Ahern

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llpl Monday was named after the moon, who was People called the goddess of the moon Diana and I held in sacred esteem in used to think that Phoebus Apollo, the sun god, drove the olden days when peo- dis darning chariot across the sky by day, and that pie believed the moon Diana drove a silver chariot across the starry paths by .was the wife of the sun. I night. (To Bo Continued) ,

SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCHEB

PAGE 7

—By Williams

—By Martin

By Bloss t

By Crane

By Small

By Cowan