Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 121, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 September 1930 — Page 13

#fcEPT. 29, 1930-

PUT OUR WAY

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°iie(\ r 1 jHuncfry [Ay, LAURA LOU BROOKMAN Z~Z7Z~7 Kir . A Vr-ow,^ AUTHOP OR "PASH ROMANCE.*' © 1930 &/ NEA SERVICE j INC

BEGIN HERE TODAY CELIA MITCHELL. 17. faces a now lift when she leaves the home tn Baltimore l where she has lived with her seamstress r "Smother. MARGARET ROGERS, to Join ' 1 Tier father. JOHN MITCHELL, and her ' crandmother in a stately New York awe 1 Unit. 1 The ftirl had not even known her , father was living until the day he came ‘lo the Baltimore apartment. Celia had supposed 808 ROGERS, her mother’s second husband, to be her father. Mitchell offered Celia a life of wealth and Immediately everything changed. She left her mother, unaware fflkthat, Margaret Rogers was seriously 111 Sand she left BARNEY SHIELDS, young Tiewspaper photographer, who vowed that some dav he and Celia would be married. She is loneiv and 111 at ease In the new home. MRS. THOMAS MITCHELL, her aristocratic grandmother, crtticlces ■ the girl and outlines training for her social career. Mitchell finds Celia in tears. Later that evening he calls a telephone number and says, ’’Evelyn, I >must see you.” NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER FIFTEEN EVELYN PARSONS’ boudoir was like a turquoise jewel box in which the owner’s ivory and golden beauty was set off as craftily as the jeweler designs settings for rare gems. f Mrs. Parsons was sitting at the dressing table inspecting the clasp of a strand of pearls. “Here, Rose, will you fasten The maid fastened the pearls about a throat which, under lamp light, failed to show a trace of age. The jewels hung half way to Evelyn Parsons’ waist. They were perfect, evenly matched . pearls, and, as Mrs. Parsons was well aware, harmonized with her blond coloring and added delicacy to her mature charms. |®j/That's all now, Rose.” maid disappeared. Evelyn drew the stopper from a ■heavy vial of perfume. It was ■ieavy perfume, too —spicy, exotic fcnri sophisticated. Mrs. Parsons ■touched her ear lobes, her lips and "linger tips with the scent. Then she stood and surveyed herself in the miiTor. She smiled at the familiar reflection, appraising and evidently satisfied with each detail. Evelyn Parsons was 42 years old. No one would have guessed her over 35. She was a rather small woman. •Che had a rounded prettiness of face and figure, and no one except Evelyn herself knew what it cost to keep down that fatal hipline to the measurement at which it stayed. Constant diet, exercises, expensive pmssage. It was her golden hair, though, that was always mentioned when acquaintances spoke of “that pretty Mrs. Parsons.” Tonight the gleaming tresses which defied time were drawn back Into a low knot. Her shoulders and arms were creamy white. There were chin lines and tiny criss-cross wrinkles about her blue eyes which worried Mrs. Parsons, but the electric glow concealed them. k Evelyn Parsons, who had been beautiful at 18. still could turn heads in any public gathering place. Her smile persisted. It was a ‘shrewd smile reserved for those strictly private occasions when Evelyn arid the reflection in her mirror communed together. Generally at such times there was a man in the offing. a an SHE was dressed in black chiffon. It was a simple frock so far as ornamentation goes. Judged by line and effect it was pure Paris. The skirt, appearing to be the slimmest poss’ble covering about the Slips, flared to mysterious, belllike proportions before it reached the floor. The bodice, seemingly no lower than other evening gowns, conveyed implications all the more marked because of the frock's demure design. F- elyn had bought the dress in tht Tench capital, nor had she regretted 1 cent of its outrageous • -v She was a woman with -uress sense.’ Now she touched the side of the gown lightly as a woman will, unabie to resist giving a final pat to ft hat which already is perfect. She ■took up her mirror, inspecting the mawless ruby of her lips. It was not deference to the memory of Dwight Parsons, In his grave eight months, which had persuaded Evelyn to put on the black gown, even though the conservative element of society which she was always careful to consider would have appre the choice. Evelyn chose the black dress as she selected her perfume. > Officially she was mourning her husband. Privately that mourning . had ceased months back. The widow, attractive and worldly-wise, had returned to Mew York from sut

months on the continent, bringing a splendid wardrobe and definite plans for acquiring Husband Number Two. Dwight Parsons had been satisfactory enough, though never really rich. Blond beauty sometimes fades swiftly, and Mrs. Parsons saw the future through shrewd eyes. Dwight had been a boyhood friend of John Mitchell. The Parsons home was one of the few at which Mitchell called regularly whenever he visited the metropolis during his long years of residence in Chicago. Serenely E.’elyn Parsons smiled as she touched a flame to her cigaret and gazed eff across the horizon from an opened window. The apartment was high up, cool even on a sultry evening. Evelyn called it a “small place,” but she lived alone with her maid, Rose, and two Pekingese dogs. She was dividing her time between the apartment in town and a comfortable house on Lond Island because of disagreeable details concerning Dwight’s estate, involved in what seemed interminable legal tangles. Evelyn consulted a clock. Nearly 9! Mitchell should be there any moment. tt n QHE tapped the ash from her cigaret absently. She was no longer smiling. Evelyn Parsons’ lips formed a firm line and her eyes grew calculating, her beauty disappeared. Like the purring feline Evelyn's sleek, silky exterior concealed claws. Two softly shaded lamps illuminated the living room. Evelyn was standing beside the central window in a pose she knew was becoming. She considered, then withdrew to a low divan. She had remembered that the lighting there would be more flattering. Rose entered the room carrying a tray and glasses. “Put them here—on the coffee table,” Evelyn instructed. “And bring that box of cigarets, will you?” Making a man comfortable was to Evelyn Parsons the first lesson in entertaining. She was always very careful about this. The bell rang. There was scarcely time for Mrs. Parsons to turn her head and shoulders to the proper angle, to assume the exact degree of cordiality in her smile before Rose ushered in the guest. “Welcome, John Mitchell!” The woman came forward with outstretched hand. “Good evening. Good of you to let me come, Evelyn.” “Nonsense. I’m so awfully glad to see you! Here in this hot city—how on earth do you men stand it? I mean, staying here and working in offices, it’s a treat to have you come and talk to me.” “I hope you weren't going out?” “When I have the opportunity of staying here and chatting? No, indeed!” “But you were going!” “Now, John! Os course I’m not. I’ve—postponed the engagement. It was nothing that I wanted to do, really. I’m awfully fortunate to be able to get out of it.” She leaned forward, hands held together, smiling guilelessly. Mitchell’s face was serious. “Well, it’s a big favor to me and I appreciate it. I’m up against a problem-well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to do. “Tonight I felt that I needed to talk to someone. You were the only one I could think of who would understand ” “Then I'm glad you came!” Mitchell moved impatiently. Before he could continue Mrs. Parsons poured a beverage into a glass half filled with ice. She held it toward him. “You'll have some?” she asked sweetly. “It will make you feel cooler.” The man took the glass, drank deeply. The interruption had been nicely timed. Mitchell surveyed his hostess. “Jove, but you look cool! How do you manage it?” Silvery laughter was the answer. Something more than laughter spoke from Evelyn Parsons’ eyes, but she was quick to avert them. She had decided it was high time her appearance won attention. “Never mind my looks, John,” the woman said quickly. "I want to hear what this is that is bothering you.” “Well, I'll have to tell you a story.” Mitchell put down the empty glass. “Mind if I smoke?”

—By Williams

“Do, by all means!” “I think you knew,” the man went on slowly, ‘years ago about my—marriage. I was in Chicago. Met my wife, out there. We didn’t come home because of—parental disapproval. That was at first. After four years we were divorced. You remember?” Evelyn nodded. “I guess you didn’t know, though, that there was a child. She's always been with— her mother. Seemed to be the place for a girl. Margaret wanted her, of course, and I didn't contest. Had no place to take her anyhow. She’s here in New York now.” He did not hesitate at her slight exclamation. “Yes, she’s here at my mother’s house. Been here three days. I want to do—well, what a father should for her, Evelyn! I’ve got the money. I want to give her her chance. You see she's never really had anything—” “How old is she?’” “She’ll be 18 next month. Celia’s her name. Os course she’s gone to school, and her mother did everything she could, I guess—” “Has her mot h e r—m arr i e and again?” Mrs. Parsons asked. Mitchell shook his head. The merest shadow of displeasure crossed Evelyn Parsons’ face, but she said nothing. “I’m telling you the whole thing so you’ll understand,” the man continued. “Mother was opposed to the whole plan at first. I had to talk her into it. “You see, Evelyn—well, you see, when a man gets to be my age, he feels differently. Things you’ve worked hard for don’t look like so much. Do you—understand w ; hat I'm trying to say?” “I think I do, John.” “I hoped you’d understand. But you see the trouble is she ought to meet young people, have a good time. I thought mother could take care of that, but I see she can’t. “Mother’s behind the times. She ! thinks the world is still ruled by the \ ‘Pour Hundred.’ Wants to take I Celia abroad this fall. That’s all ' right, but what is she going to do in the meantime? Tonight I found her —I mean Celia—crying.” “The poor dear!” Mrs. Parsons’ voice was honeyed softness. “You were right to come to me, John. Now here’s what we’ll do—” It was an hour and a half later that the door of Mrs. Parsons’ apartment closed behind John Mitchell. In the turquoise boudoir Evelyn Parsons laid aside her pearls. “It’s going to be easy!” she whispered exultantly. “Easy!” (To Be Continued) SEEKS ’CHUTE RACE BET Jumper Wishes to Wager §I,OOO He Can Reach Ground First. By United Press ROSEBORO, Ore.. Sept. 29.—80 b West, parachute jumper, wants to wager SI,OOO he can reach the ground from 4,000 feet in a ’chute faster than any other human.

ARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR

Step by step the Arab beat back his adversary until the latter's horse all but trod upon the ape-man Then a vicious blow toppled the black warrior backward almost upon Tarzan. As the fellow tumbled from his saddle the possibility of escape which was represented by the riderless horse electrified the ape-man to instant action. Before the frigi'.‘°ned beast could gather himself for flight a ry.ked giant was astride his back.

•THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

SAV,WfcO WTO?. YIH. V •XH 6AA.S 'AW i *o**' TMEY LVT& 60 6Y .. ' LAM U OSJttt AM’ JtR *iNO OOT oowfr WOMY Y* VIS OPEN ... Y* emu, \f? TrtAT \T WAS CLOSED WORRY ftACVC Wil COOTS '•*• YFUAS E YtA. ttCOYI f WHILE "WEY ASOOT j A COUPIA MtßCfc WE j SACK. —OOOW , SOSY ( WERt AWAY— YWEH i DAYS CAW t*SA*. WAIT Y.U-T- 6VT, YA ** **' CMOW ONHSOSH'.’. H^Y, F BOOTS AN© l NOYWW ! | lET EYk . CKASCf' HURRY WUM-BR& BftEE ??? , | W'.llN Wtt w 6B T ■' COME*, <2*>OTS UMY V£Y ] WEA S£evict. IWC BEQ U. P * T ~ Im.llll i

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II *

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SALESMAN SAM

f / un o \ ( Poor. too’. v'U- BeXc-ha we's fyjHaTs TW' tApOTeR., o-osw 1 . Twftss "tboßfvo’. f He DUCKED PIST )C Chy L n O; “ inO ' I ( Lost ms MOTHER-oa ms VOUUCr PLU-ft? • HOW'O HE DO IT? t WIT *TW LfctA? POST* K]i * ( 0 'I < \ (AOTREtts LOST mn!i a-- —T - —S)V /% - v, ' ROL'* J cT-tt" —sc \ f joues ) (well,! wuil Ctowu& ?/ S\

MOM’N POP

Wf 'NEL.I., HERMAN UfeMEsi) POP! r-W A -AND DO YOU\I'LL never -DOGGONE TOUR-OLD J OLD FAL. 1 REMEMBER \ fORGET VtWoU HIDE’. WHERE DID \ AS X LIVE. 4 THE TIME THAT I WENT HOME you cone J AND BREATHEiW VJE HAD THAT J V4ITH A V_, VROM*? a. SCRAP OVER / SHINER AND* EDNA COLE / EDNA 'MENT \) AND T POKED/ OFF VNITI-V

A strong hand had grasped the bridle rein, and the surprised Arab discovered anew foe in the saddle of him whom he had slain. But this enemy wielded no sword and nis spear and bow remained upon his back. The Arab, recovered from his first surprise, dashed in to annihilate this presumptuous stranger. He aimed a mighty blow at the ape-man’s head, a blow which swung harmlessly through thin air as Tarzan cfuckefl from its path.

—By Martin

And then the Arab felt the other’s horse brushing his leg, a great arm shot out and encircled his waist, and before he could recover himself the Arab was dragged from his saddle. Tarzan used him as a shield on a mad rim straight through the encircling ranks of his enemies. Just beyond them he tossed his human shield aside upon the ground. The last the Arab saw of his strange foeman was as Tarzan galloped off across the plains in the direction of the iereot beyond.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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■ r SO THIS IS YJMAT \ fIT COULDN’T WAVE. XOV> CALL A JIFFN’I \ / BEEN MOW- THAN TEN T*% BEEN TWO \ l MINUTES, t RAN INTO

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

For another hour the battle raged, nor did It cease until the last of the Abyssinians lay dead upon the ground or had galloped off toward the north in flight. But a handful of men escaped, Among them Abdul Mourak. The victorious raiders collected about the pile of gold ingots which the Abyssinian? had uncovered and there awaited the return of then' leader. But thetr exultation was mixed with anew fear—the strange apparition of the white man galloping >- away, f

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—By Ahern:

—By Blossec

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan