Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 7, Indianapolis, Marion County, 19 May 1930 — Page 13

MAY 19,1930.

OUT OUR WAY

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SYNOPSIS MARY DELLA CHUBB—The best lookin* docker In the clock shop. If not In Waterbury. Lives with her parents In a Bank street bat. MIRIAM ROBBlN—Limited In 8. A., but Mary Della’s best *irl friend; also a docker. JOE BPEAKS —Mary Della’s steady, voun* man about town, good looking and hard-boiled. ROBERT HENLEY CALKMAN 111 Yale senior and football star, one of the Calkmans of Detroit. GEORGE McKRAY—He wanted to *0 to Harvard but the cards were against him; also a senior at Yale. Happy-go-luckv is George. MARJORIE MARABEE—Daughter of fashion, living on Cracker hill. Fiancee of Robert. TIMMY FITZMOAN— Petting is his specialty. In love with Mary Delia. OLGA SVENSON—AIso a docker and not too popular with any one. Mary Della and Robert are parked on the old piece of Highway off the Cheshire road when a woman is murdered by the Red Mask in the darkness ahead of their car. They leave the body and decide to say nothing about it. to protect themselves. But after three days Mary Della writes an anonymous note to the police telling about the murder and where the body is. The American carries the story under glaring headlines the nest day. but says the police could not find the body. Brett Younger has written a musical comedv called "The Clock Shop Clockin which Mary Della is to be the leading lady. Mary Della discovers that she has lost the letter written her by Robert and from which she tore a piece of paper to write the police about the murder. Leaving the first rehearsal of "The Clock Shop dockers.” Mary Della sees Robert's car parked in front of The Elton. She gets In and waits for developments. Robert and George MacKrav come out of The Elton and And Mary Della In the ca , \ George says he has an engagement. but will meet Robert at the hotel later. Robert takes Mary Della for a ride, during which he suggests that life isn’t always fair to lovers. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (Continued.) “That's the number on the yellow roadster I was telling you about,” said the C. E.. and ambled out to the wire room. Five minutes later as he came into the city room the C. E. Was all but run over by the assistant city editor. /'I got it, Ray! Look at this. Yale boy and everything. This begins to look good.” The C. E. took the niece of copy paper and read the notes: “Robert H. Calkman. Address Yale university, New Haven.” “Yes, sir; that looks interesting.” “And now what?” “Well. I don’t know. Probably the best thing to do would be to go over and pay our respects to this young man in person. Yes, thats the thing to do. We'll go over, put our cards on the table and see what he has to say for himself. If we’re wrong track we'll crawl out the best we can. If he's our man—well, we'll find out what he knows about the murder.” “Tonight?” “No, can't make it tonight. Let’s plan to get away right after the stock edition’s put to bed tomorrow, it’s a long shot, but it’s worth taking. We may come back with a scoop, and we may come back with a couple of black eyes. But it ought to be a lot of fun, either way.” CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE THE final dress rehearsal of “The Clock Shop Clockers” was an extremely corpulent evening. It was an exhilarating experience for Mary Della, a thrill for Timmy Fitzmoan, and a riot for Miriam. But one thing at a time. To be&n with Timmy appeared in his affectionate tuxedo and promptly was instructed by Brett to rent one two sizes larger before the show and to wear it only in the roadhouse scene. Until now Timmy had imagined himself the last ga*o in sartorial tiegance when embraced by the tuxedo, and this frankness on Brett's part was a blow that tnreatened to deprive the musicaT comedv of its leading man. But Mary Della took ctmmand of the situation and assured Timmy that stage tuxedos always were exaggerated to emphasize the effect. And then Timmy raised anew bulwark and asked who ever heard of a leading man in any scene without a tuxedo. Which indicated that Timmy had been specializing on Adolph Menjou. Eventually, however, everything was arranged agreeably and the rehearsal got under way. “Standing in the wings, waiting for the chorus to do its first song, Timmy sidled up to Mary Della. “Uncle Jack let me borrow his car tonight. Mary Della," he confided In a whisper. "Want me to take you home when we get through?” Mary Della wanted very much to say yes. She knew the implications of the invitation from Timmy, but she knew, too, that she could save him from his one great weakness. And there was something ’ about the boy that attracted her. Borne thing refreshing after the

staccato worldly-wise manner of Joe Speaks. But it was Joe whom she feared in her relations with Timmy. He had seen them go into the pavilion together that night at Hamilton park, and that same night he had suggested that he would have no mercy on a discovered rival. “If I ever catch any bozo running around you ” It was Timmy’s welfare, she thought, not her own. “I’m sorry, Timmy,” she said at last, “but not tonight. Don’t ask me to give a reason.” “Aw, gee! You don’t treat me right, Mary Della. You said the other night you could love me without half-trying, and now you won’t even let me take you home.” "Listen, Timmy,” Mary Della caught the lapels of his jacket and pretended to remove a vagrant hair from one of them. “I’d like to go, but I can’t. But why don’t you ask Miriam? Miriam likes you plenty, Timmy, and she’s a peach of a girl if you only knew her.” “Miriam’s all right,” Timmy agreed. “Think she’ll go?” No enthusiasm here. “Os course she will.” Brett called for the leading lady to stand by and gave the chorus a last warning against what he described as “grandstand stuff” when they ought to be playing up to the leads. Everything ran off smoothly and at 11 o’clock Brett declared that “The Clock Shop Clockers” ought to take the town by storm. “It’s nifty,” he said, “even if I did write it. Be back stage early tomorrow evening, and keep your nerve. Good night.” TIMMY and Miriam were the first to leave the hall. They slipped out while the others were getting on their coats and chatting noisily about the Impending performance. “You’re a dear, Timmy, to take me home in your car,” Miriam declared. “And such a gorgeous night to ride home in. too. What a shame I don’t stay out in Watertown or Thomaston, so we wouldn’t be there in such a hurry.” Timmy hadn’t expected this assistance to his plans, and he quickly took advantage of it. “What’s the sense in going straight to your room, Miriam? It’s early yet. How about a little spin out the Thomaston road? We’ll be back in an hour.” “Isn't that a scrumptious idea, now! You sure do know how to drive, Timmy.” “Oh, it’s easy to drive a car,” Timmy said modestly. “Sit a little closer, Miriam, and it'll be warmer for both of us.” Miriam moved over nervously. Something told her that this apparently innocent ride was likely to prove interesting before it was over. She wondered if this first suggestion was a part of a program,, or did 'frmmy really mean it about being warm? They rode out by the ball park, across the bridge over the railroad tracks, and on along the narrow road toward Waterville, talking about the show, the weather, the pleasure of riding at night when the traffic was light. In the revealing lights of the village, Miriam leaned far over to her side of the car, but when they had left Waterville behind, she once more moved to the left until Timr-v began to find it difficult to employ hi* right arm on the steering wheel. This problem he solved by giving over the wheel to his left hand and putting his right arm about Miriam’s shoulders. Miriam was somewhat startled by this maneuver, but she argued that there could be no possible objection to a young man resting his arm on a girl’s shoulders if a girl sat so close he couldn’t use that arm in operating the car. Nor did she feel that she had . cause for protest when Timmy's hand clutched her shoulder and drew her slowly but firmly to him, j though she could almost hear the i thumping of her frightened heart. But when Timmy turned into the Greystone road and came to a stop ; around the first bend, Miriam ex- ! perienced a sensation she was not likely to forget. Here she was park- : mg with a young man, and she I hadn't the first idea what was exj pected of her. If she met his advances coldly, he would put her down m either a snob or an ignoramus. If she acquiesced too

—By Williams

TTAVING quieted the engine, yanked at the emergency brake, and dimmed the lights, Timmy once more put his arm about Miriam and drew her to him. “Nice and cozy out here. Like the country, Miriam?” “I—l think so, Timmy—sometimes.” Miriam squirmed uneasily. “Say, what are you so fidgety about?” Timmy asked. “Didn’t you aver park with a fellow before?” Miriam decided that the safer course was to tell the truth, though she was tempted to claim a long and profitable experience. “I’ve never even been out with a boy before, Timmy,” she confessed. “And you’ve never been kissed by a fellow either?” “A boy kissed me once at a birthday party when we were playing postoffice, and I slapped his face.” .“You must of been a little kid then,” said the sophisticated Timmy. “Would you slap my face if I kissed you now, Miriam?” “Timmy!—Aren’t you ashamed of yourself!” She scrubbed a cheek with the back of her hand. “Maybe you think that’s funny, but I don’t, and don’t you do it again!” “Gee willikens! What are you getting sore about? I just kissed you on the cheek. That’s nothing. A kiss is just half a kiss unless it’s on the lips.” “Is that right! And what’s the difference whether it’s on the cheek or on the lips, I’d like to know. A kiss is a kiss.” “That’s where you’re wrong, Miriam. You’d know better than that if you’d ever been kissed right just once. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know the answer, but I know it’s so and that’s enough for me. As for me, personally, I’d rather kiss my landlady smack on the lips than to peck Bebe Daniels on the cheek all winter. Oh yes, Miriam, there’s a difference.” “Well, I don’t care,” Meriam said saucily. “You ought not to kiss a girl at all without asking her permission. You ought to know Timmy! Stop it! Stop it, Timmy!” “How was that, Miriam? Any better? If you wouldn’t struggle so, I might be able to give you a real kiss, but with your fingers gouging my eyes out, my style’s badly cramped.” “If you do that again, Timmy Fitzmoan, I’ll get right out of this car and walk home. Who do you think you’ve got in this car, anyway? I’ll have you know I’m a lady whether I look it or not!” ... “Can you imagine it?” Timmy asked in great surprise. “Getting sore just because I made out like I was going to kiss her. Why, Miriam, when I really mean to kiss a girl, I don’t play around like that. I settle down to business.” * u MIRIAM drew herself up. “Well, you’d better not settle down to business with me, or you’ll be sorry for It. I never saw anybody behave so in my life. I didn’t think you’d pull any cave man stuff like that with :ne or I wouldn’t of come out here. The idea of kissing me twice when you knew I wouldn’t like it.” (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

Korak, again his old self, and impatient at the weeks he had been forced to lose, set out to find Meriein. Eagerly he took to the high-flung upper terraces of the great forest. How exhilarating it was to swing once more from tree to tree; to test the prowess of his mighty muscles! Yet life would lack its sweetness untU he found his Meriem. That evening, be was attracted by a band of baboons, barking and jabbering.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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Curiosity tempted Korak from his path. A few miles off, he came upon the scene of the uproar. In a steel cage a huge baboon fought to free himself, beating in futile rage against the the rigid bars. Upon the outside, several hundred infuriated fellows were tearing and tugging, helplessly trying to aid him. Korak was amazed. Tins trap meant the presence of white men. He had believed no whites were within a thousand miles of him. „

—By Martin

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Presently an idea flashed through Korak’s brain. He knew he was a match fo j many warriors; but he could not, unaided, overcome an entire tribe, not even for his beloved Meriem. Perhaps these baboons would help him against Kovudoo’s men! He could speak the language of the baboon. It was identical with that of the great apes. Raising his voice he called to them: “I am Kofak the Killer I I will help you

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The baboons heard him in silence while he bargained with them, offering freedom for their king in exchange for their help. The imprisoned baboon was ready to promise anything. He and his tribe would go with Korak. The fastenings of the trapdoor that had eluded the mental powers cf the baboons, yielded their secret immediately t# the human intelligence of Korak. and a moment later the king baboon stepped forth Fin in ■mi

PAGE 13

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan