Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 302, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 April 1930 — Page 6

PAGE 6

OUT OUR WAY

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THE P iNDEPENDENT 3 SYNOICATE

MARY DELLA CHUBB- Eighteen and everything vou could want in om young woman. Works in the clock shop and lives with her parents in a Bank street flat. Her best, friend is MIRIAM BOBBIN. Her “steady company is JOE SPEAKS. One ol her erstwhile eager flames is TIMMY FITZMOAN. ROBERT HENLEY CALKMAN 111 Yale football star anti senior, and one *f THE Calkmans of Detroit. He is 011Kaged to MARJORIE MARABEE. who lives on Cracker hill. His closest friend is OEORGE MACKRAY. also of Yale. Marv Della goes to meet Joe Speaks in front ol the postoflice Joe fails to appear and she starts lo go to the Palace alone. Crossing the street, she is all but run down bv a long yellow roadster driven bv Robt rt. Henley Calkman 111. who takes her m his car and heads for St. Mary's hospital. Mary Della insists she is not hurt and mischievously direct him past the hospital and out East Main street. He suddemv turns from the Cheshire highway and parks on the arc of old • public road about half wav to Cheshire. Marv Della threatens to walk back, but relents, and when Robert asks if he may kiss her. she impulsively turns out the ear lights and 4 throws her arms about his neck. A woman screams in the dark road ahead. Robert goes to investigate. Minutes later Mary Della turns on the e#r lights to see Robert and a woman, apparently dead. lying on the ground, and standing between them a man in a RED MASK. She hides in the woods until the Red Mask leaves, then goes to Robert and finds him only stunned by the blow on the head. The woman is deadi murdered. Robert does not tell Marv Della who he is. but asks her to call him Bob. The next night Marv Delia goes to the Saturday night dance at Hamilton park. Timmy Fitzmoan fails to stage a petting scene. CHAPTER SEVEN (Continued) JOE SPEAKS was standin, just (inside the door as they .vent in. He i waited until Mary Della and Tirrimy were dancing, and then cut in. “We and n’t cut in out here," Timmy informed him grandly, clinging to Mary Della. “Oh, don’t we?” Joe asked, shoving Timmy roughly aside. I’m so sorry." “Don’t mak“ a scene, Timmy.” Mary Della pleaded. “You’ve had your share anyhow.” Thev danced for a time in silence. “Well . . .?” said Joe. "Well ...?’’ said Mary Della. Another silence. “What’s got into you. Mary Della?” “Me? T hadn’t noticed. Anything unusual?” “You still sore because I couldn’t meet you last night?” "Couldn’t?" Mary Della repeated. “Break your leg or have to stay in after school?” "You know I’d a boon there if it hadn't been something heavy. What's the idea of being so highhanded about it? Looks to me like some sheik's been cutting in on my territory ” a it a MARY DELLA knew her face had grown suddenly red and she was afraid he would feel the pounding of her frightened heart. But she bit her lip and kept her face turned away from him. “I’m going to tell you something. Mary Della. If I ever catch any bozo running around you. I'm —he's going to wish he hadn't. Get me?” "For a man that’s got a lot to explain.” Mary Della declared, "you're talking mighty big.” “Maybe." said Joe. "but you heard me. I couldn’t get there last night and that's that . . . Aw. come on, Mary Della, don’t act, like that. You know I’m sorry I had to stand you up. Let's forget it.” “And that’s tie explanation?” asked Mary Della. “Oh, well, if you've got to know, I got in a craps game and lost pretty nearly every cent I had. I was just beginning to get it back gt 8 o'clock and I knew you’d listen to reason when I told’ you what happened.” “Too bad we don't agree on what is reason. Let’s get out of here. I need pir . . .” They rode out of Hamilton park in. Jot s car. stubbornly silent. “What oay, want to take a little nde?” Jo? asked as they neared East Main street. “You’ll have to make it snappy,” I'm due heme before 11:30.” *'That*s easy.’ said Joe. and turned east. “We’ll just about have time for a little chat by the side of the road.’ “Where?' asked Mary Della. *Oh. anywhere you say. sweetheart. There’s a nifty place about lialf way to Cheshire, a piece of the old highway that r ’ Mar" Della felt the perspiration rising on her forehead and her legs grow weak.

CHAPTER EIGHT MARY DELLA was quite certain that she preferred death ten times over to parking once more on that piece of road where less than twenty-four hours before there had descended about her unsuspecting little head enough drama and tragedy to fill three ordinary lives. She told herself that though years had elapsed she never could go into that road again without living over the awful horrors of that night. But what she refused to admit, even to herself, was that it was not alone the revival of the terrors that she feared, but a fresh glimpse of that brief, beautiful moment in the arms of—Bob. All day she had insisted that she must put Bob out of her heart; that she should be grateful for the fleeting happiness he had brought her, but never to permit herself to think for an instant it was either right or reasonable that she should see him again. “As long as I live.’’ he had said, "I’ll never forget the prettiest, the sweetest, the bravest little girl I ever met.” He had meant it, too . . . then. She was sure of that. He was really in love with her in that hour. That was their hour. . . . Her hour . . . but it had gone, and she must forget it. And as they rode out East Main street she and Joe Speaks, there grew in her heart, like a gaunt specter rising in the night, anew fear, a fear of something she had almost forgotten . . . “it.” They had not found it. She had searched every column of the morning and afternoon papers; but neither had. told of a murder, or of a body found on a piece of the oldfashioned highway. It was still there, still lying by the side of that frozen road waiting . . . waiting . . . “Joe.” Mary Della was desperate now; “I’m sorry, Joe, but we can’t park tonight. It's late and I’ve got to be in bed before mom and pop get back from the pictures.” “What’re you talking about, kid? It's not 11 o'clock yet.” “I know, Joe, but they may get back early and there'll be a racket it they find me gone. Not tonight, Joe. please.” “You're not still peeved at me. are you Mary Della?” Joe asked plaintively. Mary Della wiggled a little nearer to him and put a hand under his arm. “What's done's done. Let's start all over. Joe.” “That's more like it.” declared Joe with enthusiasm. “You're the last girl in the world I'd stand up. Mary Della, but it couldn't be helped last night. Warm enough?” “Plenty,” said Mary Della. Silence. “I been doing some thinking lately. Mary Della." “Thit so? How'd it agree with you?” “Aw come on. Mary Della. Lay off the wise cracks. I'm talkingbusiness.” “Oh,” said Mary Della, and gave his arm a little squeeze. "Shoot. Joe, I'm listening.” a it tt IBEEN thinking about me and you, and how long we been keeping company, and how well we get along together, and . . .” “And what. Joe?” “Well, what d’vou think?" “You're doing the thinking right now. Joe. Go on with the story.” “Oh. you know what I'm talking about. You just want to make me say it. Can't you understand anything without being told in so many words?” “No.” Mary Della admitted. “I'm funny that way. Mind reading's not in my line. You were saying how nice we get along together.” “Well, we do, unless you're getting ready to start another battle about last night.” "That’s out.” said Mary Della. “All right. I stick to what I -gjd. We got along pretty nice and we ought to be getting ready for. . . “For what. Joe?” “There you go. Will you give me time or is it natural for you to try to lie funny all the time?” “It's, natural for me to be natural, if that’s what you mean. You're all flustered, Joe. Stick to your lines.

—Bv Williams

We ought to be getting ready for what?” “Aw, hell .... A saint couldn’t talk sense and you snapping at him every time he stops to get his breath. Will you shut your trap and let me talk or not?” “About one more crack like that,” said Mary Della with spirit, “and I’ll give you something to talk about. If you've got anything to say, say it. and quit barking at me when I try to help you out.” 4 Avery heavy and prolonged silence. “The trouble with you. Joe.” Mary Della said at last, “is that you've got to have things your own way too much. You’ve had a clear road with me for months; you scared all the other fellows off and figured you could do just about as you please. Don't scowl at me. I’m telling you what’s good for you. “But you haven’t made good use of your time, Joe, I will say you got me out to the Saturday night dahees pretty regular and you kept coining ai’ound often enough to keep me looking for you. But you passed up a lot of good chances to take me places and show me a good time. Girls like to have their fellows show a little interest. Joe, throw ’em to a good show once in a while, give ’em things, tell ’em they're pretty, whether they are or not, make ’em think you’re crazy about ’em. . . . “Did you start to say something, Joe?” Joe snarled. “When I start to say something, you won't have any trouble hearing me.” a a tt “T WAS getting around to that,” said Mary Della quietly. “Before you butted in I was going to say that while you haven't been any Romeo, I've told myself that you must have to work pretty hard, and I didn’t have any right to expect any more from you. But, then, there’s the way you act when you do take me out. Anybody'd think you'd bought me on the dollar-down plan and made the last payment. “I said last night was out and I meant it, but I've got to make you see what I'm driving at. You stand me up and then come around tonight with a lame excuse about playing craps. “It’s no compliment to me to tell me you couldn't keep a date because you lost money playing craps. To tell the plain truth, Joe, I always had a feeling that decent people didn't play craps . . .” “Nobody plays craps," Joe snorted. “They shoot ’em!” “Well, you'll have to overlook my ignorance, Joe. I never did go in very strong for craps myself. But getting back to the subject. I swallowed the excuse, Joe, and let you have a clean slate. (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

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After his inhospitable reception by the great apes, Korak roamed the jungle unhappily for days, unsatisfied vengeance smoldering in his breast. A week he remained in the vicinity of the apes’ amphitheater hoping to meet the king ape. But finally the constant search for food led him several miles away. With Akut he was moving slowly down wind. Sud enh they halt and.. Not a muscle quivered as they stood immovable, listening.

THE INDIANAPOLIS 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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Korak advanced cautiously a few yards and leaped nimbK- into a tree. Akut followed close. Neither had made a noise that human ears could hear a dozen yards off. Stopping often to listen they cr°pt forward through the trees. Both seemed greatly puzzled. Finally Korak caught a glimpse of a palisade and beyond it some goatskin tents and thatched huts. His lips curled in a savage snarl. Blacks! He signed to Akut *o wait his return.

—By Martin

Woe betide the unfortunate villager whom Korak the Killer came upon in his present mood! Leaping lightly 'rom one jungle tree to another, he came silently above the village. His ears told turn some human being was near and he held his spear ready. Now he saw the owner of the voice that rose to him from below. It was a little girl, a little nut-brown maiden singing a lullaby t<* a ragged doll. The snarl faded from his lips and-he smiled to himself.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Now arose a great noise on the opoosite side or the village. Men, women and children ran toward the gate through which trooped a motley crowd of black slaves, Arab camel drivers donkeys, goats, sheep and horses. A tall, sour old man led the caravan. Korak saw him question an old hag; she pointed to the place where the girl played. “Her father,” thought Korak “Hi* first thought is of his little daughter. How triad she will be to see him!”

.APRIL 29, l\

—By Aherlii

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan