Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 197, Indianapolis, Marion County, 27 December 1929 — Page 14

PAGE 14

OUT OUR WAY

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Charmer Wcm r \ tty VIDA HUH^T

SYNOPSIS When Jacquellnß Bordinl, famous tnovle atart, returns to the little town In which she had grown up. Howell Sheffield is filled with dissatisfaction. Howell’s father, an over worked country doctor, dies of pneumonia, leaving his family practically nothing. Howell, against the wishes of his mother, decides to leave medical school and go to Hollywood. On the train, an older woman, who Calls herself “Lambie,” offers him her friendship. Howell gets a room in Hollywood and meets Sally Osbourne, who does not think much of his ambition to be a movie actor. Sally warns him what Hollywood will do to him end they part coldly. Howell tries to get work but fails. Desperate and almost penniless, Howell la starving himself, but he will not give up. He turns for sympathy to Madalyn, a. candy shop waitress, and yields to her physical lure, afterwards hating Himself because he knows he does not love her. One day Lambie, In an expensive car, picks him up She promises to help him. Through her he gets a letter from Carleton Meade, producer, and lands a Job as an “extra. Gratefully, he plavs up to Lambie, though he does not care Xor her. Howell realizes that Sally Osbourne means more to him than any other girl he has met, but she Is contemptuous of nts ambition to get into the movies and this angers him. He takes Madalyn out to the beach for a Sunday and finds her as luring as ever. Howell learns that Sally secretly has been paying part of his room rent and •ngrlly accuses her. Lambie is more affectionate than ever •nd offers him money which he very much needs. He accepts reluctantly, telling her he will pay her back. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (Continued) It was pleasant to be making enough money so that he didn’t have to worry about meals. Once or twice a week “Lambie” insisted that he dine with her. The old stove was rarely used any more except for breakfast. Gone, too, were the days of loneliness and longing for masculine companionship. Although different from the fellows he had known at school, he had struck up a friendship with Dimples. Dimples was an ’‘old-iimer." was able to give Howell "tips” and let him in on the “inside dope” that makes up a large part of an extra's life. He found the composite dream of all the extras he met was to become a star. Sometime, somewhere, B. director was going to notice their '‘work.” Regardless of the fact that day after day and week after week nothing happened to justify such an •mbition. Tales were whispered of how certain “extras” had found or star had been “made” over night. Other stories not so pleasant were also repeated. Howell found that two or three extras gathered together could “spill more dirt” than any group of university students he had ever known. How in the world did they know so much? How could they find out the most intimate details of any other person’s life? At first disgusted, he learned to listen with more or less appreciation. In the midst of a picture he often wondered if the stories he had heard about that particular director or star were true. Certainly nothing was seen in the studios to Justify the never-ending scandals. Rather reluctantly he kept his promise to call for Madalyn. keeping his head with such cold-blooded efficiency that she was troubled. He became an adept at answering her bewildered questions. “What’s the matter, Howell? Don’t you like me any more?” “Os course I like you.” “You aren’t mad about anything?” “Why should I be mad? I don't have to come after you, do I?” “Ne. but, gee, I certainly don’t undent*nd you any more.” He knew she referred to the single chaste kiss he bestowed upon her in parting. But he kept his own counsel. Not even to himself was he admitting that danger smouldered like a slumbering volcano in her embrace. There were days when the thought of her did not rise once to the surface of his consciousness. Nights when he woke to the memory of her arms and rose to pace the floor. He was not thinking any more than necessary on any subject. He found it infinitely more satisfactory to take each day as it came. Just drifting. His letters to his mother and sister became Increasingly vague. Those to Eunice stopped altogether. 9*4 was neither disappointed nor

resentful when her engagement to, the cashier of the Farmers bank was announced in the weekly paper, but wrote her a friendly letter wishing her happiness and sealed it wiih relief. At any rate that was! over. Other news arrived before the: summer was over. Agnes became j the mother of a little son. She wrote, “We've named him after you, dear—Howell Sheffield Wilcox. It’s a fine old name. I hope he'll never do anything to make us ashamed of it. As if such a darling baby could.” Howell sat and looked out upon the hills a long time after reading i that. What a distance lay between j them! A distance that could not be measured in miles. “It’s a fine old name. I hope he’ll never do anything to make us ashamed of it.” The next night when Dimples wanted him to go on a party, Howell refused. “Oh, come on! Might as well get a little joy out of life.” “I can’t tell you. I’ve had another engagement for more than a week.” He spent the evening writing a letter to his sister. To which she responded. “Your letter sounded more like you than any you’ve written since you went away. I’m glad i you’re so pleased about the baby’s name. “Mother is, too, of course. Mother isn't looking very well. She doesn’t complain, but I can see that she is eating her heart out, Howell, Can't you come back for a little visit? Now that you’re making such a lot of money I should tjunk you could manage it.” Bitterly he smiled. He was working about two days a week some weeks when work was plentiful. Even if he had been able to afford the expense of a trip East he dared not leave at this stage of the game. Several assistant directors were beginning to recognize him. He was really in more or less demand as a “cop.” And as Dimples said, “A damned handsome one you are, too.” There were others who seemed to agree with Dimples; and Howell thought the girls he met at the different studios seemed a class above the men. Perhaps it would be kinder to say that there were more of the desirable types among the girls. The nice ones, however, those he would have been willing to introduce to his mother and sister, did not encourage advances from the men on a set. They would enter a desultory conversation, or play a game of bridge to break the monotony of waiting, but if one met them outside the studio their recognition was casual. Some of these extra girls were young and beautiful. Many, however, looked old and frostbitten; the ghost of beauty peering from faces which were disillusioned, dissipated and sometimes frankly vulgar. One of these “old-timers,” a girl of 24, who looked 40, confessed that she had been an “extra” for seven years. Dimples told Howell she had been one of the prettiest girls in Hollywood. “Innocence personified.” Howell couldn’t imagine it. “She’s gone down hill fast,” Dimples added. At that, there was something sweet about her. She had a kind word for every one and every one seemed to know her. She was one of the few extras who dared to be late. • How do you get by with it?” another girl asked. ‘‘lf I'm two minues late I don’t get in.” “I never have any trouble," Doris answered carelessly. “I guess it’s because they know me.” On another occasion Howell heard a newcomer ask how much truth there was in the stories one heard about the advances made by directors, cemeramen. etc. The girl with the many pasts written on her face replied quietly, “I don't know that it’s any different from any other line. “Most men expect you to pay for the favors they show you, It’s no

—-By Williams

worse here than it is in the offices downtown.” CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO THE summer passed. One day Howell realized that the calendars were saying “September.” Back home the leaves were beginning to turn. Young people in Fairfax were making preparations to return to school. Not his classmates, however! Most of them already would be hard at work as internes in various city hospitals. He, himself, if he had finished, now would be dealing with the grim realities of life and death instead of their more pleasant imitations. There were times when he felt his present life to be artificial and shallow. He had been too rigidly trained to conform without some distress to Holywood points of view. But these feelings were only temporary. He could call Dimples or one of the fellows Dimples had introduced and quickly dispose of his depression. He had learned by now that no one had any use for any one who was “low.” The pretense of high spirits often could lift one from the most discouraging slough of despond. And most people were laughing to conceal troubles of their own. He began to drink a little. Not much, but enough not to be a “wet blanket” to the crowd. Privately he thought the synthetic gin they consumed was “awful” and he was afraid of it, Just as he was afraid to make love to the girls whose vulgar remarks and casual embraces anounced that they were any man’s property. After an evening at one of the parties Dimples’ friends put on, he found himself longing for Madalyn. She might be dangerous, but she always was at least sweet and clean. And ehe had apparently ceased to expect anything. She was accepting his occasional attentions with a wistful eagerness which appealed to him. Sally, so far as he was concerned, had ceased to exist. He met her sometimes, breezing in and out with her notebook under her arm. Very oiten when he returned in the early morning a light would be shining from her windows! Evidently she was not lacking for entertainment. But he did not permit the thought of her to disturb him. What she did with her time most emphatically did not concern him, and when Mrs. Benton tried to interest him in the matter, he told her so frankly. Lambie, on the other hand, was becoming more of a problem. She had refuseed to accept his attempts to pay an “installment” on the loans. “Don’t be silly, Howell. I don’t expect you to pay that back.” “But I want to. I wouldn’t have taken it otherwise." (To Be Continued)

One day Tarzan and Sheets came upon the tribe of Akut. It occurred to the ape-man that it would be an interesting experiment to attempt to reconcile these hereditary enemies. It was hardest to impress his purpose upon the panther. But by fastening his rope about Sheet's neck, by using his stout cudgel on the sensitive nose and by the compelling force of his man-mind, he succeeded*

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

I’LL SPECAD THE CLAD ) vLjVI WAT VIOULO VOOV NEAH? MEBBE VOO Tu PDC.CRv.tS--A 9AV IP voo KflCvJ \ TUIAIW: VIE UaMCR'T a 1 VWECk. PQom NEXT J~ : =r that I UjvD A i SURPRISE FOP VOO J MOMDAV- HOT BiS SURPRISE Foe jv_ ' roo ‘"' uuclS f ‘ w—■—■'.. ■ '

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

'Y-■ '7.7^— fS WRSIW6TOM TUKBS, Vou ARE CHARGED A f THE DATEoF VOUR^ POOR. / ViVIH PECONU DEGREE MURDER FOR THE KILUMG TRIAL. ThEN, vJILI Bfc NASH DUKE \>E HAMSANVITCH. HOW DO YOU PL£AO? WEDNESDAY, JANUARY IS BROUGHT " 7

SALESMAN SAM

'Hey, MisTftH hovooy-couldYp. i'llee Y (&*cose miY ujotcs,Goxx-e>u-r ViHPiT /V* been in another. oomtc-ex COKIC IN MAH PACK. YAHD *\N’ / LATE. TA WORK , AUT RASTUS TcHNSON GAVE. HIS KtO \ME TWATMONKEYIN' VJITU - —..FIGHT TUfsTfe WttflT ) PRESENT WASN Tft TOYHELP ME WIF SUMPHIN”? _ WHPiTE ~TH’ PI FT? A SWELL CHRISTMAS PRESENT AN’ \ A KID'S MECM AN ICALToY — v - r

MOM’N POP

WHAT'S A FEW DOLI.AOS INVESTED \ f /FOR ME\ \NMV. / ABE TOO COMFORTABLE j / IN FLOWERS WIT WILL BE THE j |W ’POP. YOU DEAR. ]/ AUNT A.MV ? SHALL [ MEANS OF HELPING ME CHISEL A / §*[ THEY'RE PERFECTLY J j t JAZZ UP THE , V 1. ...... J

THE BEASTS OF TARZAN

Now the man, the panther, and the great apes roamed their savage haunts side by side, making their kills together and sharing them with one another. And of all the savage band none was more terrible than the smooth-skinned, powerful beast that had been but a few short months before a familiar figure in many a London drawing room and exclusive club.

—By Martin

Sometimes the beasts separated to follow their own inclinations. It was one of these times that the ape-man lay stretched on the beach, basking in the sun. Down-wind, so that the scent was not carried to him. a savage peered at him from the forest's edge. For a moment he looked in astonishment at the dozing white man; then turned and made a sign to someone behind.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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/ITjHftEE SHORT tfECKS! ss! FOR THE 10°, IS FRIGHTENED. " TJ FIRST Time WASH is REALLY FRIGHTENED. Z - —— —— / wow 4 , cess Than three weeks to A ee \ / K\f SEND / CLEAR HASH! To FIND OUT WHO / tfte JH4 fw ME / wuROERED THE DUKE*. CAN t DO if? rw Jf I COT Tom

IF THAT ISN’T ALLPIGHT you) OH I ,THE FPIEQ N} FLOWERS ANT) FOOT>'-AMD THAtA ' JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU / CHICKEN WILL BE j LOVELY TPAVELING-CAEE c OO I j LIKE AND I’LL HAVE f FINE! BUT YOU j CHRISTMAS-IT MAKES ME FEEL / j HILDA FIX IT FOR DINNER J MUSTN’T GOTO j ASHAMED THAT T DIDN’T GIVE THEM / i

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Caustiously through the rank grass a score of hideously decked, big black warriors advanced silently upon the sleeping white man, their heavy war-clubs swinging menacingly in their hands. They were almost upon him before he sprang startled to his feet. With savage yells and raised clubs the warriors leaped for him—only to r*treat In sudden panic.

DEC. 27, 192

—By Aheitn

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan