Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 306, Indianapolis, Marion County, 3 May 1930 — Page 11

MAY 3, 1930

OUT OUR WAY

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MffifmA IiYJCrLIE ANN MOORE TH£ P INDE PEN DE

Synopsis MARY DEIXA CHUBB: The bestlookmc docker in the clock shop, if not in Waterburv. Lives with her parents in a Bank street flat. MIRIAM BOBBIN Limited in S. A., but Marv Della's best girl friend; also a docker. JOE SPEAKS: Marv Della's steady young man about town, good-looking and hard-boiled. ..... ROBERT HENLEY CALKMAN III: Yale senior and football star; one of THE Calkmans of Detroit. OEOROE M KAY: He wanted to go to Harvard, but the cards were against him: also a senior at Yale. Happy-go-ludcv is George. _ , MARJORIE MARABEE Daughter of fashion. ‘ Ing on Cracker hill. Fiancee of Robert _ ... ... TIMMY FITZMOAN: Petting is his specialty. In love with Marv Del.a. OLGA BVENSON Also a docker and not too popular with anyone. Marv Della and Robrrt are parked oil the piece of old highway off the Cheshire road when a woman is murdered by the Red Misk. notorious slugger, in the dark road lust ahead of their car. Marv Della and Robert are afraid they will he implicated in the murder and say nothing about it. But both worry about the woman's body lying on the road three days undiscovered. Marv Della write an anonymous note to the pone.. Robert sends George in Robert's car to see if the bodv is still there. CHAPTER ELEVEN (Continued) Our young man is leaning against the grill again. “Ready to break on that, Cap’n?” “I think so, Don. . . . Here's the story. Ready?" “Shoot.” The young man has pulled a wad of odds and ends of paper from his pocket. He keeps one ear turned to the grill to catch the captain's sharp, crisp phrases, and writes rapidly in long hand. “That's about all so far.” “Thanks. Cap'n. Anybody out?” “Yes, Carson and McMullen." “May I speak to the Super?” “You can try,” smiling. The young man crosses to the superintendent’s office, says "Good morning" to the secretary, and passes through the open door . . . . “Good morning, superintendent.” “Morning, Don. You've got the report?” “Yes, sir. Could I see that letter?" The superintendent hands him the scrawled note. The young man examines the paper closely, checks it against his notes, and returns it to the superintendent. “Wouldn’t mind my getting a picture of that would you, superintendent?” “Go ahead; it can’t do any harm, and it might help.” The young man uses the superintendent's telephone, and picks up his hat. “Thanks a lot. sir." “Come again,” says the superintendent and turns to his desk. a a ft But if the law is a sluggish old woman, the newspaper is an excitable young girl, vivacious, eager, agile, anxious. It is 10 o'clock of the same, sharp Monday morning. The city room of the American is relatively quiet, for all but a few of the reporters are on the street. There is a subdued drone of voices and a duet of clicking typewriters. At the east end of the room the sports editor and the assistant sports editor are bent over their desks. At the west end of the room the society editor and the assistant society editor are making feverish use of separate telephones. Between these two departments are rows of desks, most of them unoccupied at the moment. Near the north wall, and about half-way the length of the room is a very large semi-circular desk, known as the "horseshoe." Around the outside of this desk sit four editors in shirtsleeves, reading “copy" and writing “heads.” In the “slot"—which is to say. in the inner side of the "horseshoe sits the city editor, the one man in whom all news activity centers. He is drumming a pencil on the desk, but his eyes are on the clock on the opposite wall. He has a newspaper to get out and it is time for the reporters to be coming in from the street. The court reporter comes, pushes his hat on the back on his head, and sits down to his typewriter. “Anything big, Al?” asks the city editor. “A couple of compensation cases, Ray.” He begins to punch the keys of his machine. A few minutes later two more reporters come in from the coat room. “What’ve you and Dan on your minds. Joe?” They make appropriate replies according to the "stories" they have in their heads or in notes, and go to their desks. Still another reporter enters, i “What say, Leo?" From the scant information furnished by the replies to his questions, the city editor is building his icewspaper, tentatively, in his head.

GRADUALLY the typewriter chorus has increased, but there is still about the city room an air of calm routine. This is the calm before the storm. The story, I warn you, is about to break. The police reporter enters with his overcoat and hat on. He walks rapidly and goes directly to the city editor. There follows a brief conversation in an undertone. Suddenly the city editor jerks a telephone in front of him. With the receiver to his ear. he talks to the reporter before him in quick, snapping sentences. “Knock off a paragraph for the Aire. Then crawl in with the cameraman and get out there. Get everything. Talk to the people living around there. Telephone me what you’ve got at 11:30.” He turns to the phone. “Photographic department, quick! Dan!” The city room is alive to the fact by this time that a “big story” is “breaking.” Typewriters click, but eyes constantly are cutting toward the city editor. Someone is answering the phone. “Tom. has Glynn gone to the police station? . . . Good! . . . Bring your camera up, and plenty of plates. Make it snappy!” “Dan . . .” the reporter is leaning over the desk . . . “Dig out the Red Mask file and write a resume of his exploits. About a column. Give me a brief resume for the first edition by 1 o'clock . . . Joe! . . .” But Joe doesn’t have to be called. He is standing by and eager to get into action. “Go over to the police station and catch Carson and Johnson when they come in. Dan may not get there before they leave. Don't miss a point. And look at the envelope on that letter the super has. He'll know which one. See what time it was stamped at the postoffice and give me an early story by 12:30 and a full story for the second edition. Try to get a statement out of the super. "And . . . Joe . . “What?” “Don't go out to the scene of the crime.” 9 9 9 THE city editor grabs the telephone again. “Art department . . . Hello, Mort? . . . Come out to the desk, will you . . .” “Lyall . .! Give us a lift. Don't go over, but call the police station and find out if they have any recent reports of missing girls or women . . .” The staff artist comes up. “Mort. do you know that short piece of old highway just off the new Cheshire road, about . . .” “I know where it is. I drive by there every day.” “Good! Do me a line drawing of the highway, showing where the old road runs. And put in any houses near by. Rush it through for the second edition.” The telephone now gets hard usage. "Engraving department .. . Byrnes? ... Get set for two halftones for the first edition, and about four half tones and a line cut for the second ... they have precedence over everything . . . O. K.? “Circulation department . . . Schoeficld . . . Hello . . .We ll have a damn good murder for all editions. . . . Probably be a lot of interest in Cheshire ... Send a boy up for a bulletin, will you?. . . “Composing room .. . George? . . . Copy'll be unusually heavy about 12 o'clock . . . Big story . . . I’ll give you the size on cuts as soon as possible . . Another lull, but no let down in the tension. 9 9 9 BY 12 o'clock the storm has reached its full force. Editors are wielding blue pencils and glue brushes madly; all reporters are banging their typewriters unmercifully. too intent upon their own respective assignments to be annoyed by the general noise and confusion; boys running with “copy”; telephones ringing; photographers rushing in with pictures and hurrying out again to deliver them to the engraving room; the “boys” from "up front” stepping around and looking importa. ; the janitors, bidding for a place in the drama, swinging precariously from high ladders to change the bulbs in the ceiling lights; business office and advertising men strutting through to indicate their contempt for all this needless hullabaloo. To the uninitiated, the city room is a madhouse. But to the city

—By Williams

editor it is all an orderly fu-fillmert of the intricate scheme in his brain for a live, interesting and carefully arranged newspaper. He sees the whole of the "big story” of the day, sees every phase of it and knows exactly, by long experience, the five or six words that must go across the top of the first page. He snatches a niece of paper and writes hurriedly. The instant he raises his pencil a boy grabs the written line and is off to the composing room on the run. The apparent orgy continues. At exactly 2:30 the wheels begin to roll and the first edition, printed and folded, rides the endless chain from the press to the mailing room of the circulation department. The city editor spreads the paper out on his desk and studies the first page. That it meets with his approval is evident by his face. Abruptly he folds the paper again and shoves it to one side. “And now, Charlie,” he says to the assistant city editor, “you and I are about to compete with the police. If there ever was a gory murder in this section with all the elements of a juicy thriller, this is it! And it’s up to us to take a hand. CHAPTER TWELVE Robert henley calkman just was coming out of the shower when George McKray strolled in and made a classical bow. "The top o’ the mornin’ to yez, and may all your troubles be static.” “Well, it's high time you were showing up.” Robert announced. “I sat up until 3 o'clock waiting for a report. If you hadn’t come in soon, I was going to Waterbury and bail you out. What’s the news.” “An uncommonly dark night, a star-besprinkled sky, and a car that won’t hit on all six unless you're doing better than seventy.” “Rot!" said Robert. "I can hardly get sixty-five out of it any more. But be serious. Did you find . . . what you were looking for?” “Thank the kind heavens, no! They had found it before I had arrived." “Well,” relaxing, “that's off my mind. Lord, what a burden it’s been. When did they find ii?” “My statement is based on circumstances only, Bob,” George admitted. “There was nothing in nor by the road when I drove through But neither was there anything in the paper about finding it.” He produced a folded newspaper from his pocket. “There’s the American, the afternoon sheet, and there’s not a line in it about you’r or any one else’s murder.” “Then they must have found it after the paper went to press, but before you arrived. . . .” "My theory exactly,” George agreed. "You might ask me why I didn't call the police station or the newspaper and ask them about it. Well. I'll answer in advance that my total responsibility ceased when I had examined that stretch of deserted road. One little telephone call like that might have got me into a worse hash that even you’ve cooked up.” __ (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

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As the leopard leaped for the great ape Meriem gasped in surprise and horror, not for the impending fate of Akut, but for the boy's. A minute before he had angrily struck his strange companion. Now with drawn knife the youth leaped far out. and as the leopard was in the very act of sinking fangs into Akut’s back the Killer landed full upon the leopard’s shoulders The cat halted in mid-air, missing the ape by but a hair’s breadth.

THE IRBLYL Ai C/LIS ’iiMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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With horrid snarls it roiled on its back, clutching and clawing in an effort to dislodge the antagonist who was biting at its neck and knifing its sides. Akut had sprung into the tree with agility little short of marvelous in so heavy a beast Eut when he saw what was go ng on below him he dropped to the aid of his human companion. The res ilt was a battle royal as the three rolled in the underbrush.

—By Martin

Shrieking, snarling and growlings rent the jungle air. It was the boy's knife which finally decided the fight. As the fierce feline shuddered convulsively and gave its final breath, Korak and the aoe faced each other over its prostrate carcass. Korak pointed to the girl. “Leave her aioge, Akut, she is mine!’’ The ape grunted, blirfced his little eyes and turned tgkthe body of £he leopard. Standing erect on %\he threw great chest. fj§

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Raising his face skyward, he gave voice to so horrid a scream that the girl shuddered. It was the victory cry of the bull ape that has made & kill. The boy looked on in silence; then he leaped into the tree again to the girl’s side. Akut presently rejoined them and busied himself licking his wounds. For i'Vnv months after this the strange life of the %aee went on unmarked by any uirusual occurrences.

PAGE 11

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan