Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 87, Indianapolis, Marion County, 21 August 1929 — Page 13

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OUT OUR WAY

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T^ININO.TALENT ' Vd ELEANOR EARLY OW 29 'ByAEAJirv.ee IrvA

CHAPTER XXXV—'Continued) "Oh. it's all right.” She laughed nervously, and felt her color mounting. ‘‘l mean I’m not acting like e girl in a play, or anything like that. I, I just want you to marry me.” "But why ...” he began hesitantly. “Because I love you. dumb bell darling!” she cried. “My goodness, what did you think? I just love you—that’s all.” His eyes held hers sternly. “You’re not joking, Molly?” “Joking!” she exclaimed. “I never felt so much like bawling in my life. I'm embarrassed to tears.” “But. Molly dear, why should you want to marry me?” “There you go!” she cried. “Always looking for an argument! I told you why. I love you.” “But you -have your career.” “I've had it.” she contradicted. "My dear, you’d never be satisfied without the plaudits of your public.’’ “Don’t talk about my public!” she cried. “The word makes me sick. I tell you. Jack. I hate my public!" “But adulation is the bread of life to you. .honey. Excitement. Crowds. Praise. Your name in the papers. Why, Molly darlin’, you eat it up! You couldn't get along without it.” “Couldn't I! Try me and see,” she Invited. “Dearest, you can't marry a poor man. A woman hasn't any respect for a man who can't take care of her." “You told me that before,” she reminded him. “I’ve had plenty of time to think it over. Besides, you said you were on the track of a nice little fortune.” . “Yes—‘on the track.* I didn't say T had it. I haven't been exactly a flop. Molly. I’ve made a little money. But. good lord, I couldn't support your menage.” “But I can.” she pointed out. “And what would your smart friends think of me?” he demanded. "You'd pay the bills. And I'd be a i . . Molly, I'd feel like a rat!” a a a S' HE pushed the breakfast things I away, and putting her elbows on the table, propped her chin in her hands. “No more arguments!” she bullied playfully. “Will you marry me darling? Or won’t you?” Her sparkling eyes anticipated his avowal. Now. surely, he would come, and kiss her on the lips. (That was why she had chosen the furthest, most secluded comer in the room.) He would put his arms around her. And tell her he loved her. And say she was the most wonderful girl in the world, because she had come to him so bravely, and asked him to marry as though she were not the most successful playwright on Broadway, and he a struggling architect. “Will you. Jack?" she cried. "Or won't you?” He looked at her steadily. “I can't,” he said. “I can't do it. Molly.” Scarcely comprehending. she stared at him. And her eyes grew large with pain. He continued quietly. “Its out of the question, dear. T can't be Mister Molly Burnham. It would be impossible.” She dropped her eyes, and he saw a flood of scarlet begin at her throat, and suffuse her face, dyeing Jt the crimson of her deep and dreadful humiliation. “You have had your career.” he told her gently. “And now you are ready for love and marriage. You wanted to eat your cake and have it too. Life doesn't often let us do that I. I have ceased to think of you, Molly, as I used to. You cant blame me for that, dear.” “I don't blame you for anything.” she told him proudly. It is quite enough. Jack, that you do not care to marry me. You really needn't lecture me. With your declination of my preposterous proposal, we will Jet the matter drop.” Molly swallowed the hateful lump that threatened to strangle her. She gathered her things. The French vanity in its green enamel case. The lip stick that looked like a pencil, in its slim gold sheath. Her gloves and petite-point bag. Her hands were trembling so that she could scarcely use them. She wished that Jack would go. and leave her there. "You're late now,*’ she reminded

him. '’Grab a taxi, and go ahead. I want to telephone, and I might as well do it from here.” Somehow she was keeping the tears out of her voice. In another moment, if he did not leave her, she would break down, Jack’s own voice was trembling. And he was white now. His face was very lean, with hollows In his cheeks. And there was a blue vein in his forehead that stuck out in frightening fashion. He looked suddenly old. And very unhappy. Molly had not noticed before how thin he was. a a a HE looked at his watch absently. “All right.” he said. “It’s getting late. T suppose I'd better be getting along.” “Good luck.” she said. “You have all the luck,” he told her “Yes." she agreed. "I have all the luck. Good-by. Jack.” “Good-by, Molly.” He stood there, looking at her. “Oh. go!” she cried. “For goodness sake, go!” Her eyes were blinded with tears, but before she could wink them away, he had gone. And there was only a patch of sunshine in the place where he had stood. She looked across the table. His cigaret was still smoldering in his coffee saucer. A moment ago he had been sitting there. And talking. And breaking her heart. Breaking it into little bits of pieces, so that she could never put it together again. And outside the day was soft and warm and beautiful. And the sun was shining. And everybody was happy. Well, she would go back to Boston. She would move away from her beautiful apartment. She would bury herself somewhere in the country. She would devote her whole life to Rita. And never, never love anybody else so long as she should live. She would be a hermit—that was what she'd be! She'd show Jack Wells how little she cared for adulation. Excitement. Crowds. Praise. That was what he said. He said she ate them up. She’d show him! And then, some day. the time might come when he would want to marry her. When he would give anything in the world to have her. And then—oh. she'd let him come crawling on his knees. That was w.iat she'd do! She would scorn him. as he had scorned her. “Oh. God I love him! I love him so! Jack! Jack! Why did you leave me. dear!" For wpeks Molly avoided Bob and Red. She changed her mind about sub-letting the apartment, and taking a place in the country. She even changed her mind about being a hermit. She would be a man-hater instead. She'd treat them like the dirt beneath her feet. She'd make I them pay and pay for all the misery they caused women. She devoted her days largely to little Rita- And her evenings to a round of gaiety. She met new men. She went to night clubs, and dances, and to the theater. Sometimes she thought of the anthology of tragic love she meant to compile. She read a great deal of verse, and copied the mournful fragments that pleased her. she had another idea. She would gather the tragic tales of the world's great, lovers—lsolde and Tristram Dante and Beatrice— Paola and Francesca —Anthony and Cleopatra—Abelard and Heloise—why. they were all tragedies! And she would write of them tenderly 1 and For the exquisite delight and pain of all women, who had loved and lost. She went to the library, and came home with her arms full of books. And that evening, while she was reading them. Red came, unannounced. to call. CHAPTER XXXVI RED was not a very tactful person. He had, moreover, a rather disconcerting way of coining bluntly to the point. "What are you doing?" he asked, surveying the array of books. “Writing an anthology of tragic loves.” she told him. "What for?” “Because I want to." "Good enough,” he conceded. "Speaking of love, do you mind if

—By Williams

[I ask a personal question, Molly? You won't get sore?” “I might. But go ahead. What difference does it make?” “Well,” he said, “I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. It's about Jack Wells.” Molly felt suddenly strange. She I had felt that way twice before, j Once w'hen Rita died. And again ; when the censors attacked her play, j She was afraid that she was going ; to faint. “What is it?” she asked, and her voice sounded faint to her, and far away, and it kept on ringing in her ears, long after the words were out | of her mouth. “You’re not exactly engaged to ! him now, are you?” “What is it, Red?” she cried. j “What has happened?” “Oh, nothing's happened. I didn’t : mean to frighten ygu. old tiling, j But—well, you remember of writing me about the woman he took to ‘Sacrifice’. Mrs. Bulwer-Eaton? Well, she’s cra7.v about him, they say. She's worth millions. “She’s sending him to Italy, to study old Italian architecture. The office got a tip on it this afternoon They wanted me to go over and talk with Wells. But I said I knew him and couldn’t very well. “Town Topics had a paragraph about them last week. Wells had a birthday recently, didn’t he.” Molly nodded. Last year she had sent him a box of surprise gifts. It was more fun to get a present like that. Everything done up separately, and tied with ribbons. Neckties. and cuff links, and a pipe. Stationery with his name on it. and ; a stunning tobacco pouch. Books, j and some candy she made herself, i “Yes,” she said. “I didn’t send him anything this year.” “Well. Mrs. Bulwer-Eaton did.” j he declared. ”A Rolls-Royce! She had it delivered at his office. They say he refused to accept it. And that it’s in her garage. But it’s hi.': just the same. She registered it in , his name.” a a a “T TOW . . . how- . . . awfully genii erous!” faltered Molly. “Generous!” snorted Red. “Disgusting, I calls it. And now she’s sending him to Italy. "She’s told her friends he’s going to build her an Italian palace, when he gets hack. He’s to pick up a flock of things over there to furnish it with. Antiques, and brocetels, and what-not. And statues for her Italian garden. Can you beat it, Molly? I’ll bet that bird has an expense account of $100,000!” “He’ll spend It wisely.” defended Molly loyally. “And I’ll bet he'll build her the best darn palace in America!” “Well, there’s no fool like an old fool.” observed Red sententiously. “Ole Bull’s widow* must be near 60.” “Oh. I don't believe she’s really in love with Jack." protested Molly. “Maybe she loves him like a mother." ' “Like fun she does.” (To Be Continued)

TARZAN OF THE APES

Tarzan's instinct overcame his cannibalistic impulse. He lowered Kulonga's body and viewed the savage village, wondering over many features of this new, strange life. A woman directly beneath him stood over a small caldron, dipping arrows into a seething substance. He knew that this was the deadly stuff that killed.

THE IN DEAN APoLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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Tarzan wanted some of those little death-dealing slivers. He heard a wild cry from across the clearing, and saw an excited warrior standing beneath the tree in which he had killed Kulonga, the murderer of his ape mother, Kala. The fellow was shouting, waving his spear and pointing. t

—By Martin

The viHage was in an uproar instantly. Armed men raced madly toward the excited sentry. Tarzan of the Apes knew they had found the body of his victim. Quickly he dropped into the now deserted tillage and gathered some arrows. Entering a nearby hut, *“ “ w ““V'* 1 ””

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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Tarzan made a pile of the hideous skulls. On the top skull he fastened the head dress of Kulonga, the chief's dead son. Then he heard a mighty wailing and long, mournful howls. Quickly he disappeared into the foliage above, kicking over the seething caldron, ajtor securing a supply of poisonous ajjjfis.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The natives filed up the street bearing Kulonga’s body, taking it to the very hut in which Tarzan wrought his depredations. They came out in wild jabbering confusion. The awesome discoveries filled their hearts with terror. They conjured in their poor brains only the most frightful of superstitious explanations.

PAGE 13

—By Ahem

By Rlesser;

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By Small

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