Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 77, Indianapolis, Marion County, 9 August 1929 — Page 24

PAGE 24

OUT OUR WAY

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TL/MIN INC,.TALENT • Qj ELL AMOR EARLY © 1929 “to AEA Jrc. live

THIS HAS H APPENFO MOLLY BURNHAMS love life Is all upset. There are two men In Molly's heart—JACK .WELLS, a poor young architect. *hom she truy loves, and Red FLYNN, a reporter, with whom she has written the play that made her famous. Newspaper people pre-suppose a romance with Red, and write various a’ories. anticipating Molly's marriage with him. The unpleasant notoriety incenses ..tack, and he and Molly quarrel. Then Red writes her a letter, protesting that he is crazv about her. but will never be in e position to ask her to mnrrv him. His mother is an invalid, and Red has promised he will never marry while she lives. On top of her distressing amours. Molly encounters tragedy, when she visits Rita Newton, a college classmate. Rita says the doctors have given her a year to live. She asks if Molly will take care of her baby when she dies. Molly, fearfully upset and saddened, promises. , A little later she 'ails for Italy. First, Molly urged Rita to ,o with her. Then she Invited her mother, but they both declined NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER XXV tContinued) ADORABLE idiot! She ran out" . to find the wireless office, and sent him a delirious radiogram: -YOU ARE DREADFULLY DUMB BUT STILL BEST BELOVED WRITE HOTEL EXCELSIOR ROME.” The trip over was delightful, but uneventful. There were princesses aboard, and countesses, and any number of oukes. They traveled with maids and various servants. And the women looked weary.and tired, and wore countless jewels with supreme indifference. The Conte Bioneamano was a floating palace, and presently Molly began to feel .as if she had been born to a life of ease and luxury. Her bath was bigger than her own kitchenette and hall and bathroom put together. Her room had two beds, and a dressing table with fulllength mirror. The stewardess brought her fresh flowers every day, and waited upon her so assiduously that it was almost like having a maid of her own. Molly spent the mornings in the trvnmasium. because the instructor, who had volunteered to teach her fencing. %as the best looking man on board. “I’ll use him in a story sometime,” she decided. After luncheon she wrote each day for two hours Then it was tea-time, and tea on deck was served from silver services. Ices and pastries, and champagne cup. Afterward she went to the movies, or played deck games At dinner time there were many rare dishes. Pheasants in gleaming panoply were carried into the dining room, with their heads high and their tails sweeping proudly.’ When their feathers were whisked away, their tender little bodies, grilled to perfection, reposed on toasted bread Molly sat alone in the dining room, but afterward, in the music room, she drank roffee while the others had liqueurs. And. because she was young and pretty and alone, she received a great, deal of attention, and many invitations to dance in the grand Italian ballroom, or to stroll about the quiet white deck. CHAPTER XXVI THE sun was sparkling on the water when the Conte Blancamano rode the shining sea into the Bay of Naples. Molly stood at the rail beride an erudite little Englishman. who took off his glasses to rub sway the moisture. His voice was tremulous with emotion, as he murmured: “Italia! O Italia! thou who hast the fatal gift of beauty." “It’s heavenly!!” she whispered—a little apologetically, because she could not tweak tnto vprse also . . . Molly had always envied people who can breath* an appropriate bit of poetry for almost every occasion. “It Ulls the air around with beauty ' ” he declared. She nodded somberly and wished she could think of a poetic comeback. "You're going to Rome, I suppose?” “Yes. indeed.” she said. “And Venice—l simply adore Venetian jewelry!” Her companion regarded her stonily. “‘I stood in Venice.' he proclaimed. 'on the Bridge of Sighs. A palace and a prison on each hand.’ ’’ “And Florence." she added. hastily. “ ‘Ungrateful Florence!’ he cried *Dame sleeps afar,

Like Scipio. buried by the upbraiding shore.’ . . “Really?” she exclaimed. “Well, I don't know about that, but they say the water is simply poisonous, and you have to drink out of the river. But there are all sorts of darling little shops. And, of course, every one knows what Florentine jewelry is! And embroidery! And all those stunning leather things with the gorgeous tooling. . . “Oh, quite. Quite.” The poetic traveler fixed bis eyes on Nuovo castle, and his manner ,iaid, as plainly as words. “My word! Another American tourist!” That afternoon Molly visited Pompeii, and loitered up and down its ancient, streets. She wandered through the ruins of houses 2,000 years old. and picked flowers in a garden ’ where roses bloomed the day Vesuvius wiped all life away. And she saw there, lying on their faces, the bodies of Romans and a Negro slave, preserved, through the centuries, by the lava that fell for days and nights on old Pompeii. There was the petrified body of a little dog. too. He looked like a fox terrier. The excavators found him in the doorway of a schoolhouse. waiting, perhaps, for a little Roman boy who perished when the volcano erupted so long, long ago. tt tt a THE next day she went on an excursion steamer to the Island of Capri, where the Roman Emperor Timerius lived, and sacrificed his favorite to the sun—an Egyptian boy named Hypatos, who was slaughtered on an altar within a dreadful cave. At Capri every one goes in a rowboat to visit the Blue Grotto. Molly felt as though shp were in a fairy tale when she saw it. Daylight and the upper world had disappeared. And she was in the hollow earth, in the midst of a twilight of blue fire. Th* walls were of a ghostly and mysterious blue, like the palaces of fairies. The waves cast up sparkling drops that gleamed like thousands of jewels. And the old boatman, bending across his oars, whispered that the waters were full of sirens, with arms like lilies, laughing and diving in the waves, ana rising aga n. But they could be seen only by little children, and men and women born on Sunday. Molly loved Naples, and stayed there a fortnight, buying coral and gloves, and eating blue lobsters. By that time she decided there must be a letter from Jack waiting in Rome, so she left Naples early one morning and arrived in Rome for luncheon. But there was no letter there from him. and. though she loitered tor weeks, none arrived. She thought of sending a cable but decided forthwith against it. reminding herself that it is never good policy for a girl to seem too eager. Then she reflected dismally that, in the beginning of a love affair, man is the seeker. But, at the end, it’s always the woman. “It isn't fair!” she fufned. “Because when the man is pursuing, it is delicious pursuit. But. when the tables are turned, and the woman pursues, it is humiliating and sorrowful.” There were plenty of men in Italy to pay court to her.. Their manners were beautiful, and they contrived to arrange presentations in irreproachable fashion. There was one —a duke—who secured an introduction through the embassy. Molly was rather thrilled. The duke wore a beautiful blue uniform, with a lot of void braid, and a dashing hat. He had a perfect Roman nose, and searching, passionate eyes. His English was delightful, and he danced and made love like a man who has nothing else to do. But one night, after they had danced at the ambasador's, the duke, whose first name was Lorenzo, suggested they see the Colosseum in the moonlight. And there, under the mpon that shone on ancient Rome. Lorenzo sought to take Molly in his arms. a a a ALL things considered. Molly decided to go to Venice. Everybody told her to be sure to arrive by moonlight. And the duke, declaring that Venice could not be Venice without romance, offered to go himself, as her guide. But Molly

—By Williams

declined. And, leaving a forwarding address for Jack’s belated mail, set out alone for the sea-girt city of her dreams. It was like another fairy tale, the way she stepped into a gondola at the station, and the way her gondolier began to sing. By the time she reached her hotel, he had sung Santa Lucia and Sole Mio, from beginning to end. Then he paddled his boat into the lobby of the hotel. It was a gorgeous hotel. Once it had been a palace, and about it clung the remnants of its ancient glory. Right away Molly knew that Venice was going to measure up to all her dreams. And next morning, when she breakfasted in an open dining rom that floated over the canal, she determined to return on her honeymoon. A week later she went on to Florence. Surely there would be a letter now from Jack. If there wasn’t she had better cable after all. There was no telling what might have happened. Everyone had written but Jack. Red and Rita, and poor Zip. And Mr. Durbin, to say that they were still packing them in. Even her mother. And her father, poor dear, had inclosed a check, asking her to buy a “surprise for mother.” Surely, if Jack had written, she would have received it, for none of her other letters had gone astray. He night, of course, be sick. They" had no mutual friends in New York. There was no one to let her know if some dreadful thing had happened. Molly was beginning to be homesick. She wanted someone she loved to talk to. More than any one in the world she wanted Jack. And —after Jack—she would like very much, she decided, to talk to Red. And then to Rita. And she was anxious, too, to se her father. Then she began thinking about her mother. Their relations had been strained, but if anything should happen while she was away, she would simply die, she decided. She unpacked her bags, and hung up her clothes listlessly. They were wrinkled. And her prettiest dress, the lovely blue one, was faded almost colorless by the Italian sun. There were her colored felt hats—wrecks, all of them. And her shoes, scuffed out at the toes. Dusty streets, and miles and miles of museums! And give anything in the world for a good cup of coffee. She hadn’t had a taste of decent coffee since she could remember, and bacon and eggs. Oh, how she’d love some bacon and eggs. “Good lord." she fretted, “I wonder why they can't learn to cook bacon.” a tt tt ALL travelers get to feeling that way. It's a feeling that usually sets in on rainy days. Or when there hasn't been any mail from home for a long time. When the sun comes out, or the mail arrives, it usually passes. But when it persists. despite sunshine and letters, the only thing to do is to pack up, and go home (To Be Continued)

TARZAN OF THE A

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Tarzan in one hand still clutched the knife he had found in his father's cabin. Accidentally he turned its point toward the hairy breast As it sank into its body the gorilla shrieked in pain and rage. Then Tarzan plunged the blade repeatedly and to the hilt into Bolgani's breast i

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND 4 HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

look WHO'S C U'-'OU BIG TRAMP. 1 \ / OfcOYl I MNT ' l To VSo Z ZoTrZJ.’J Uu eotA Ilf. 7 I’M IN LOVE!

SALESMAN SAM

( THINK ITS RiBOUT Time. Y? WtLL, SHOR.TEM fVoU STINGY GOOD-FOR-A WELL,DRY UP-AM’ WHEN 0) ftM' VMF€S K<CKIM’ FOR IT'D BE A & 100 t croT A NEW <?.!&- - rve J \ IT TH&M! NOTHING* You spend ) GET OOWN *Tb TH’ OFFICE. (ACRE. CLOTHES AGAIN*. OM€.< &EEN WEARING- THIS < J NIOE.E MONEY ON SMOKES ) 1 'U_ SEE HoW (AUCH l CAM \ WONDER. WHAT KINO __ - Ofcess LOMCJ- ENOUGH' J '~7/ THAN You Do ohms A. t_ex Ya HAVE.’ of a ORESS she'd GET “If

MOM’N POP

PES

The gorilla tore the floh at the boy's throat and chest with its mighty tusks. More and more weakly the torn and bleeding arm struck home with the long, sharp blade. Then the little figure stiffened with a spasmodic jerk, and Tarzan, the young Lord Greystoke, rolled lifeless upon the ground.

—By Martin

Far off the tribe heard the fierce challenge of the gorilla. It was soon discovered that Tarzan was missing. Kerchak. the king ape. was strongly opposed to sending assistance. He had no liking for the strange little waif. But Kala was of a different mind. She fairly flew through the matted branches. *

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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Presently she came upon them under the brilliant moonlight—little Tarzan's torn and bloody form and beside it a great bull gorilla—stone dead. Rushing to Tarzan’s side. Kala listened for a sign of life. Faintly she heard it. Tenderly she carried him through the inky jungle, back to the -tribe. %

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Many days and nights Kala sat guard beside Tarzan, bringing food and water in her mouth. S>he licked his wounds, thus keeping them clean. After what seemed an eternity to the little sufferer, he was able to walk once more. In another month he was as strong and active as ever.

/AUG. 9, 1929

—By Ahem

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Taylor