Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 64, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 July 1930 — Page 8

PAGE 8

OUT OUR WAY

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MKIKBtMfIr BYs KATHLEEN NORRIS • copyright, 1930, iutke sell syndicate.

! CHAPTER THREE iContinued) But it was the family itself that steadied her feet upon this unwonted course; the family as represented at one of Aunt Lizzie Eyre's solemn family dinners only a few days after the Palmer problem had first been presented to Patricia. They were all there, the Pages and Throckmortons and Chamberses and Pomeroys. Dorothy, the daugh-ter-in-law. was there with George, and Christine, the married daughter. who was Mrs. Joel Carey Bruce, with Joel and young Christine. Old Aunt Louise was there, magnificent in her wheeled chair. Handsome men and ugly, distin-guished-looking women, they circled about the big, old-fashioned, comfortable house and gathered about the long table at the preposterous hour of 2 o’clock for the usual endless courses and the inevitable chicken and rolls and layer * cake and ice cream. Uncle Paul liked these gatherings, and the family was too used to them to really analyze their essential qualities. •‘Catalogin’ the Palmer books, eh?” said Uncle Paul, from the head of the table, with an indulgent smile for the family beauty. Patricia nodded, conscious of a heightened color. "Are they awful?'’ Dorothy asked, widening innocent eyes. "Not so dreadful,’’ Patricia answered stoutly. "I think you make a mistake, dear.” said her aunt. Mrs. Throckmorton. decidedly. "Better let such people alone!” "That's what I say!” Christine Bruce added pleasantly. "They’ll have an ax to grind yet. Pat! ’ "After all. it's my business. Christine!” Patricia said, with just a touch of asperity in her voice. a a a *T DON’T know that it is!” DorX othy Eyre suddenly protested. She and Christine, prosperously married in their debuntante years, and sisters-in-law, well could take Issue with Patricia. “After all, you owe something to your friends, Pat, you owe something to the—the family!” she said, her well-groomed, intelligent little face turning nwy as the attention of the entire group centered upon her. "I wouldn't ask my friends to meet any one they were obviously unwilling to meet!” Christine put in neatly, "any more than I would—would do any other thing that annoyed them! I'd rather starve.” “So should I,” Dorothy said, settling back with an air of finality. "You'd rather I should starve,” Patricia amended in her heart. Aloud she said indifferently: “She's really rather attractive, Beatrice Palmer." “Beatrice, eh?” smiled young Roger Chambers. "No more Pansy. eh?” "Is she home, Pat?” one or two voices asked. "Oh, Pat had her at tea at the Countrywoman's yesterday!” Christine answered. "That's what we're talking about.” "She's plain, rather, Patricia admitted. "Young—and rangy. But ehe rides and dances beautifully, and. of course, she finished at Farradays.” "Exactly, dear.” Mrs. Throckmorton said. “She is like any other nice young girl. But I think myself she is a little out of place at the Coimtry woman's. Os course, once was all right. But she will find her own level, and really have a better time than making herself wretched trying to—” “To what?” Patricia asked, as the good lady paused. “Well, what shall I say? Tc get into our set perhaps expresses it,” Mrs. Throckmorton finished. "Not that we are any better than she. it isn't that. But she simply isn't a member of this particular group!” "Exactly, Aunt Annie!” Dorothy approved. Patricia was silent. But in that moment she committed herself to the Palmer cause with a determination that meant battle if opposed. a a a SITTING at tlie great table in j the library at the Castle, she outlined her campaign. Opposite her, flushed, scowling and earnest, sat Dan Palmer. Lounging In a great chair at the fireplace was Beatrice, lately Pans}-, looking lean,

young and ill at ease in a remarkable w alking gown of velvet. Patricia's heart had sunk at the first glimpse of her, but she was beginning to think the tall, awkward young creature not such hopeless material, after ail. Beatrice was like her mother; she had a smooth, colorless skin, silky, rather lifeless hair of taffy-yellow, and a wide mouth that she incessantly rouged. She carried a rouge-stick In her purse and used it without the slightest self-consciousness. She had expensive clothes, but wore them badly and at the wrong times. She had come back from school full of buoyant chatter, tales of herself and her youthful triumphs, plans for her first social winter. For two or three days even her mother and brother had been affected by her gay self-confidence. This was a week ago, however. Since then Beatrice had telephoned old acquaintances, had paid a call or two. At first she very distinctly had indicated that she wished to make these calls alone; later she had asked her mother to join her, and had been angry at that lady’s helpless refusal. She had asked imperative questions about the Country Woman's Club and the Entre Nous dances, had been bewildered and silent after her brother's brief replies. Beatrice was clever and she had seen social aspirants snubbed in Deerbridge before this. She might rage and writhe under rapidly growing conviction, but she faced it honestly. They were deliberately cutting her. It was during the first humiliation of this discovery that her mother and her brother had introduced Patricia's name. Dan, knowing his sister, put the case plainly. Miss Chesebrough was interested. She was confident that she could manage Beatrice's first winter successfully. She already had taken up the matter of the Entre Nous "Well, she can’t get me in there!” Beatrice had interrupted scornfully. "I hate them all, anyway! But I don't care. If you and mamma are so crazy about it, I don't care what I do!” And in this manageable frame of mind Patricia had planted her first lessons. She had filled the girl's day. French, riding, walking, lessons in bridge and charities—Beatrice must take them a!l in turn. The jewelry that Beatrice loved must be foregone for a time, even ; the “di'mon’ larvaleer,” as Mrs. Palmer called it, that had cost S7OO. a a a PATRICIA and Beatrice walked downtown together in the autumn afternoons while the Palmer cars stood idle. They shopped, went into the club for tea. They were always pressed for time. Such introductions as took place were brief. “You know Miss Palmer, Margaret,” Patricia would say casually to a I friend: "we are running away. Come, Beatrice, we re late now!” Bewildered but impressed, Beatrice accepted her guidance. Secretly, she adored Patricia with the hopeless ache of eighteen for twenty-seven. Outwardly, she sulked, as she was : sulking this morning. "I wish you'd give these notices to the papers, Mr. Palmer,” Patricia said in a businesslike tone. “I’ve said that Miss Beatrice Palmer will make her formal bow to society at a large tea. early m the new year. That gives us time. Now. the next thing to arrange is the Hutchinson portrait. I think he will do it.” “I thought he was going away?" Beatrice said, with reluctant interest. "He is. But his sister is to play in the little vaudeville sketch for three or four weeks.” Patricia explained, "so that the New York plan is put off. And by the way, Mr. Hutchinson has given me a guest card for the Bachelors’ Mardi Gras dance, so that's settled.” “Already!” Dan said, with a triumphant look at his sister. “That isn't until March,” Patricia reminded him. "and unless we can manage the other things, it won't do us much good!” "I can wear this in my portrait.” Beatrice consoled herself, fondly studying a photograph of herself in her presentation gown. "Why aot wear the pretty blue thing yo* had cm last night?” Pa-,

—By Williams

tricia said winningly. Beatrice widened amazed eyes. "Why, that’s just an old thing I got in Menares!” she expostulated. “I’ve had it three years!” "But it would be charming in a picture,” Patricia persisted. “The ether girls, my cousin and Miss Bishop and Mrs. Bruce have been painted in their handsomest gowns, with pearls and diamonds, and so on,” she added simply. tt tt tt “T?' LIZA RALSTON wore ermine xLj when she sat for Sargent. But I wish you would wear the blue thing, no jewels, just a young girl standing by a curtain ” Her voice stopped on an interrogative note, and her magnificent eyes, half-amused, moved from sister to brother. “I get you!” Dan said presently with a nod. "But—but I have pearls!” Beatrice submitted, rather uncertainly. Uatricia felt a certain quick pang of sympathy for bewildered 18. It was all so absurd, the race and the goal were alike unworthy. She was surprised sometimes nowadays to discover how ridiculous the whole social scheme seemed, even to a Chesebrough. This young and rich and fortunate girl was hurt and chilled by her exclusion from an elaborate structure that contained only emptiness, and her brother was scowling anxiously over the campaign beside which tilting with windmills was a reasonable employment. These thoughts were rank treason. “But what is being a Chesebrough?” said the rebel in Patrician’s sould scornfully; Aloud she said cordially: "Os course you have jewels and everybody knows it; so you can afford to do the unusual thing. Why, after all,” and Patricia’s smile was reflected in the two young faces opposite her, “after all, I’m only doing for you what the mothers of these other girls have been doing for them since they were born. It’s a sort of game.” "Only it’s a sort of game that mama can’t play,” Mrs. Palmer, who had come in on her cane, added with a solicitous smile. Patricia, glancing at the kind, weatherbeaten, homely face, felt the tug of anew emotion at her heart. a a a IN the three little rooms behind the pharmacy Danny had been adored and indulged, had had his naps and his porridge, had had his fat hands slapped for "getting after papa's jar of lickerish.” "Beetberries” had been born there, during terrible times, when Danny had mumps and "papa” was getting over pneumonia and the rent was four months due. Vivid, simple and tender talk it was. Patricia had not heard much like it. Her imagination was touched by this picture of a cold, shabby, young man and his wife, doubtfully compounding the great “sensatone” that was to pour this river of gold about their feet. (To Be Continued)

TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR

by Eds Bet fcrlnc. A B ‘ i. . V

Nothing disturbed the tomb-like silence of the treasure chamber. Once again, and, he thought, for the last time, Tarzan closed its massive door. Behind him, Werper rose and stretched his cramped muscles. Then he picked up one of the gold ingots and lovingly caressed it in an ecstasy of emotion. Tarzan dreamed of the happy homecoming that lay before him; but there rose to dispel that dream the memory of the aid witch doctor and his warning.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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And then, in the span of a few brief seconds, the hopes of both these men were shattered. Werper forgot even his greed in the panic of terror—and Tarzan was plunged into total forgetfulness of the past by a jagged fragment of rock which gashed a deep cut upon his heal. The thing came without warning. One instant all was quiet and stability—the next and the world rocked, tlje tortured sides of the narrow passageway split and crumbled.

—By Martin

—' * / tii J SSL Z ZIZZ* W "SBFtHf

Great blocks of granite, dislodged from the ceiling, tumbled into the narrow way, choking it; the walls bent inward by the earthquake. Beneath the blow of a fragment of the roof, Tarzan staggered back against the door, his weight pushed it open and his b*dy rolled inward upon the floor. Werper staggered to his feet when he found himself unhurt. He sought and found the candle dropped by the ape-man. Lighting it, the Belgian’s one thought was to escape from bis frightful tomh.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Making his unsteady way toward the door, Werper saw the body of the giant stretched upon the floor. He drew back in sudden fear; but a second glance convinced him that the Englishmen was dead. From a great gash in the man's head a pool of blood had collected upon the stone floor. Quickly the Belgian leaped over the prostrate form of his erstwhile host, withmit a thought of aiding him, and bolted for tilled— only to find his hqpes dutot

.JULY 24, 1930

—By Ahern

—By Blossex

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan