Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 70, Indianapolis, Marion County, 31 July 1930 — Page 13

(TOLY 31,1930

PUT OUR WAY

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iWMMSMf. BY- KATHLEEN NORRIS - GOPYRIGrHT, 1930, hiftfa, BELL SYNDICATE

BEGIN THIS ROMANCE HERE TODAY Patricia Chcsebrousrh member of an old family well intrenched in society, is forced to earn her own llvinz and receives an offer from the family of Beatrice Palmer to put her across in fashionable circles ana eet for her invitations to the exclusive clubs and dances. The offer Is made bluntly and frankly bv Beatrice's brother, Dan Palmer, who stipulates that if Beatrice marries one of the elieibles. Patricia wvill get an additional fee of 125.000. The suggestion Is made by Dan and his mother that Beatrice's portrait be painted bv Sidney Hutchinson, a popular artist, whose studio teas and work have attracted the fashionable crowd. Sidney has been Pat s pal from childhood and has lust returned from abroad. Pat hesitates to undertake such a bold scheme, but the realization of her debts begins to pinch and influences her to agree. Her rich and snobb'sh relatives are opposed to any contact with a newrich family, but do not offer to help her. The situation is complicated by the return of Helena, an actress, introduced as his sister, who is going to New York for an engagement and wants him to try his luck there as a painter. CHAPTER SEVEN-Continued ,- In it?" Patricia said, “you tell me that you have got too deep into an oil deal with Jimmy Pell and the Forrests and that you have lost money by it and are t’-ying to get out?” “I wrote you that?" the man Ttsked, after a pause. "As an excuse for not sending me the money.” she explained, nodding. “Hm," he commented, and was silent. “My dear girl” he began again confidently, "you must have entirely misunderstood what I said.” “My dear Joel,” she answered, with equal confidence, “I can read English.” ‘“The Little Bearcat* is the best oil investment in the world today," Mr. Bruce said simply. “I know that now.’’ Patricia assured him. “but you didn't think so then.” she added innocently. Mr. Bruce glanced at the closed door of his office. * u WANT to explain that matter X to you a little. Pat." he said, graciously. "I got into this oil venture about a year ago with Harry Page and Steve Forrest and some others, seven of us altogether. Well, for a while it was nothing but assessments—l really know very little about oil. and I got pretty sick of being assessed; we all did. “Along about February I may have said jokingly to Harry—l did S3y so, in fact—that I was about ready to get out. They called another meeting ni March, just at the time Christine and I were in New York, and Harry —he had no business to do it, of course —quoted me as being done with it, and put up my stock. • The other fellows jumped for it, for that was just about the time w-e began to realize that the Bearcat was going to pay us something over 100 per cent the first year. And she's only beginning, at that! Well, that's the whole story. I came home, questioned Harry's right to act for me. and put it in my claim for my seventh." “It won't come to a law suit, then?" Patricia asked interestedly. Indeed, no!” the man answered confidently. •* “In this letter.” Patricia took up the tale innocently, “you say that you are taking Chris to New York to get away from the Little Bearcat —that you are getting out of it!” “Let me see that letter," he requested. “It’s at home. Joel." “And what put it into your head?" “Why, I was dancing with Steve Forrest a night or two ago," the girl explained, “and I asked about the oil venture. He said it was a mint, and that you had changed your mind about getting out. that was all. He said that his brother Oliver w-as inclined to fight, but all the rest of them were giving you back your stock, and letting the whole thing go on as it was.” “And you spoke to him of this letter?” Joel Bruce asked heavily. “No. I never even thought of It until afterward!" Patricia answered. Joel leaned back with a breath of relief. “You don’t for one second believe that I was in earnest about getting out?” he asked. “Heavens, no!” she answered, pleasantly. There was a silence. Patricia picked up a picture of Christine and the girls from the desk, and studied it thoughtfully. a m m “OUT your cards on the table, 1 Pat,” the man said suddenly and harshly. He reached for ills checkbook. "What do you want?” “My dear Joel,” she flushed hotly.

“Do you think I am blackmailing, you?” He grinned ruefully. "I don’t know what else you call it.” “The letter is of no use to me and the business matters of which it speaks are unintelligible to me," Patricia said. “I know how often one writes a thing, in a discouraged mood, that is really not true. I’m not pljying you against the Forrests and the Pells. The letter is safe at home, nobody ever saw it but you and me, and I will mail it to you ” “Better bring it,” he said, breathing deep in relief. “I'll bring it to you the day Miss Palmer gets a eard for Roberta and Janet’s ball next month.” Patricia jumped up. “There, those are my terms!” she said briskly. “I’m working at the Palmers, Joel, and they are charming to me. There’s a good income in it and I don't want anything to interfere with it.” “I see,” he said, nodding. “They think they’d have a good time?” “They know they would, with Annie and Aunt Louise and myself and Chris back of them.” They’ll get their cards,” he said positively. “Do you know you’re pretty sharp to realize the pull that letter gave you Pat?” he added in unwilling admiration. “It's not that I'm sharp now, it’s that I’ve been fearfully dull to my opportunities belore this,” she answered gayly. “You brazen little hussy!” said Joel. “Here, where are you going? To Harry’s? Wait until I get into my coat and I'll run up there in the car. I'm going now, anyway.” And in the big car, Patricia reflected, their conversation was even more affectionate, more spontaneous, than usual, as he told her all about the “Little Bearcat.” She had fearea that this mad course would cost her Joel's respect, Joel’s friendship. “I’ll wager that men do some pretty funny-things among themselves in business," Patricia concluded innocently to herself. CHAPTER EIGHT IN the house of her cousin, Harry Page, Patricia was almost as much at home as in her own room. Harry was a widower of 40, handsome, rich and charming, the social dictator of Deerbridge and the central figure at the best dinners and dances. He lived, with a 10-year-old daughter, in an old-fashioned, narrow brick house, where for years he had gathered such books, brasses, mahogany and oil portraits as reflected the glories of the Page, Chambers and Eyre families. His lineage was his one passion, and his clumsy, homely, nice little Emily, on condition that her prospective husband assumed the name of Page, was to inherit a very museum of antiquities. Emily rushed out tonight to welcome Cousin Pat. and they went in to the long drawing room, where tea was served every afternoon. She liked the Spode and Old Blue, and the thin sliver scratchily engraved with faint initials. And she liked her cousin, too, who met her with the usual kiss and read her a poem by Francis Thompson, while the tea was being brought. “Henri, mon bon," she said, over her second cup. her eyes on the small canvas that occupied the large wall space over the old mantel. “The Copley is too small‘for yon space!” “Dont tell me that,” said Harry Page, instantly alert. “You've got the companion portrait. You know I offered you ” “I know you did. dear. You offered me *I.OOO for it. But that was last year, and £ • last year three meals a day ha.j come to seem more important to me than the Copley portrait of my elderly relative!” “You've not changed your mind, Pat?” the man exclaimed. “Will you sell it?” “No, TO not sell it” Patricia interrupted. laughing at his enthusiasm. “but I’ve got the two others, and I’m going to send you that one! You have as much right to it as I have, anyway.” “No," said Harry Page, in his element. “Yours is the senior line. Pat. Hannah Page was an Elyot, wife of Roger Dale Page. Roger’s elder son was Adam Page, your great-great-grandfather. Roger's son seas Josiah. who was my great-

—By Williams

I grandfather. I’m the eighth generation, and you are the ninth, but I yours is the senior line, d’you see!” But Patricia laughed. “If you’ll do me a favor, you shall have it*” she promised. “My dear girl,” her cousin assured her seriously. “I can hardly conceive the favor that I would not do for you to get possession of that picture!" a a a “TT'S just this, Harry,” the girl said. “You’re always so sweet to me that I want you to help me out! I'm at the Palmers, you know, and I want you to dine there, with a lot of other people, the night the kermess opens, and lead the grand march with Miss Palmer. . I want you to meet her, Harry, and then, if you really like her, as I think you Till, say a good word for her here and there— just say what you honestly feel, but bear in mind that what you do for her is a real favor to me!” “But, my dear child.” he said, with wide-open eyes, “why shouldn’t Ibe nice to one of your friends? I don’t know her, of/course, but Hutchinson was speaking of her last night; seems ready to like the girl. You aren’t going to give me a valuable present ” “My dear Harry, if it’s worth while to me?” Patricia laughed. “No, you shall have the Copley. Those things don’t seem to mean so much to me as they did, and after all, it's Emily's great-grand-mother ” . "Great-great-great grandmother,” he interrupted absently. “Where is it, Pat?” “Stored at Uncle Paul’s.” “By George, I'm deeply obliged to you about this, Pat. I can’t tell you how much pleasure it gives me.” “And you'll give Beatrice a hand up?”

“Afy dear girl. I would have done that for your asking, anyway.” Mr. Page frowned thoughtfully. “Have they asked you to lead the cotillon yet, Harry?” “No, they haven’t yet, but I dare say they’ll ask me. Yes, I'm glad to do that.” a a a “VT'OU look glorious, Pat!” said Sidney Hutchinson, ten minutes later, when she came, rosy and cheeful, into the studio to find him with Beatrice and the Partridges, father and son, loitering over the teacups. “You’ve had tea? I should hope so! It's almost 6. What have you been doing?” “Blackmailing!” Patricia answered gayly. “It’s lots of fun.” “Miss Throckmorton came in and she asked me to luncheon at her house tomorrow," Beatrice said with anew shyness of manner that Patricia thought rather charming. “They’re to talk about the kermess.” “I’m in that,” said Tommy Partridge. (To Be Continued)

TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR

Tarzan drew himself out upon the wet floor of a tunnel. Along this he passed. But now he went more warily. Hie shock of the icy water had somewhat cleared his confused brain. A slippery stairway ended the passage and up this he made his way. It turned back and forth many times, leading at last into a small circular room. Curious, the ape-man investigated. Several metal-bound, copper-studded chests constituted the sole furniture,

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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Tarzan let his hands run over these. He pulled at the hinges, and. by chance, raised the cover of one. An exclamation of delight broke from his lips at sight of the pretty contents. Gleaming and glistening, lay a great tray of brilliant stones. Tarzan, reverted to the primitive by his accident, had no conception of the value of his find.* To him the jewels were but pretty pebbles. --He plunged his hand into them and let the * priceless gems filter through his fingers.

—By Martin

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He went to the other chests, all full of precious stones, and, taking a handful of the sparkling cut ones, he filled a pouch. Unwittingly the ape-man had stumbled upon the forgotten jewel room of Opar. For ages it had lain buried beneath the temple of the Flamig God, midway in one of the inky passages which the superstitious descendants of the acient sun worshipers had either dqred apt or cared, not to explore.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tiring of this diversion, Tarzan took up his way along the corridor which led from the jewel room by a steep Incline. Winding and twisting, but always tending upward, he came nearer aiM nearer to the surface. And now he found himself in a brilliant sunlit scene. Tarzan viewed the vine-covered columns in mild wonderment. ! He tried to remember. Had he not once been here ftefore? He was not sur*.

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—By Ahem

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small