Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 255, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 March 1931 — Page 11

MARCH '4, 1981.

RAD MARRIAGE-Il h LAURA LOU BROOKMAN Author of'HEARTHUNGRY^.

(Continued from Pace One) electric clock on the wall. "The boat lands at 12 o'clock and I’ve Just got to get there! Turtle said I could leave as soon as I’ve flnlshe this tabulation. There—!" Turtle (the unofficial name by which Miss Elizabeth Tuttle, office manager, was known to the employes under her supervision) at that moment entered the room. “Will you add these two tables to that list you're working on, Miss Mcßride?" she said. "I'd like to have them as soon as possible." Miss Tuttle laid five pages of penciled manuscript on Gypsy's desk. Mor<, figures! Miss Tuttle’s countenanoe was severe and busi-ness-like. She was a woman in (the late 30s, with slim, pointed features in keeping with a too-sllm figure. Dark-rlmmed spectacles on a black ribbon increased the impression of formidable authority. She paused long enough to give Gypsy exact instructions about the typing. Mias Tuttle spoke In a loud, highpitched voice and without smiling. "Check the statistics after you’ve finished," she added. “You know how serious an error would be.” Gypsy knew—fully. She expressed herself completely on this subject as soon as Miss Tuttle had disappeared from the room. With each terse syllable she hammered the keyboard of her typewriter viciously. Jean Foster was sympathetic. “That’s a dirty trick!" she said Indignantly. “Why didn't you tell |tr you couldn’t do it, Gypsy? Why Ain't you say you were busy?” The other girl shook her head. No use wasting time in an argument. Never mind about Turtle. I’ll get even with her for this. I’ll get even all right!" She glanced at the clock, then bent over her copy. The staccato tap-tap of flying typemiter keys grew faster. A moment later and Jean’s voice, lower pitched, interrupted: "Gypsy—give me half of that. I've got time to help." “Would you?" “Sure. I’ve got to stay until 1:30 today anyhow. Show me what you ‘want me to do.” Gypsy’s quick smile was grateful. There was no time to lose in words. She divided the pages and gave the \ other girl directions. After that the clatter of the machines doubled. For nearly ten minutes they worked. Then a shad or.- fell over Gypsy’s shoulder. “Isn’t this the day of the Fond Lover’s return, Miss Mcßride?" Gypsy did not look up. “Why? Do you happen to be interested?” she inquired steadily. She knew it was Clara Howard who was standing behind her. Clara was the one member of the stenographic department with whom Gypsy Mcßride clashed regularly. Everything about the two girls seemed antagonistic. Gypsy was small, dark, outspoken, vigorous in her likes and dislikes. Clara was blond. She was tall, moved languorously and spoke with an ingratiating drawl. Clara was adept at flattery and a favorite with Miss Tuttle. Gypsy knew it was not friendliness that had brought the other girl to her desk this morning. She went on with her work, but Clara lingered. * M * ‘•’INTERESTED? of course I’m inl terested. Haven’t we been hearing every day for the last six months about this handsome hero of yours who has Hollywood and all points east and west beaten for looks and talent?” Clara turned toward Jean Foster. “Maybe you haven’t heard about Gypsy’s romance," she said. “My dear, you don’t know what you’ve missed! It’s the perfect love affair! ‘Gypsy has a beau she hasn’t seen for years, because he’s been studying to be an artist. In Paris! Living In a garret and eating crusts and all the while remaining true to Gypsy’s memory. Don’t you love it? He sends her picture postcards." The tone In which Clara spoke rr*de every word ridiculous. Gypsy colored, but she did something of which she was proud for days. She kept her temper. The other girl waited, apparently disappointed. Then Clara said slowly: ‘’What’ll you do, Gypsy, if he walks down the gangplank with a wife and three children?" There was a titter from across the room. Jean Foster spoke up defensively. “We’ve got work to get out, Clara. Don’t you think you could postpone the comedy?" “Oh, my dear—l beg your pardon!” Miss Howard's voice regis-

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tered a drop of icy temperature. “Didn’t know you were playing little helper, Jean. You must excuse me.” Gypsy’s “Don’t mention It!” was equally formal. Her anger was tempered by the thought that, of all the girls iiwthe office, Clara Howard was the one she least wished to know that Jean was sharing her duties. Now Clara knew. It would be interesting to see what damaging use she would try to make of this Information. Two little wrinkles appeared in Gypsy's forehead Just above her nose, she looked up at the clock. Then her heart began beating pellmell again just as it had most of the morning. Alan was coming! She must hurry with her work because Alan was coming! What did she care for Clara Howard or Miss Tuttle or a whole army of tabulated figures? In spite of aching shoulders and overwrought nerves, there was a glow of happiness about Gypsy McBride. The minutes were flying and every one of them was bringing Alan nearer. With a sigh of relief Gypsy pulled the final sheet from the carrier. Jean looked up. “Be through in a minute,” she mumbled. Now Gypsy was arranging the typewritten sheets. She got them wrong twice, stopped and began over again. “Fingers are all thumbs!” she complained. She had them all together at last. Ten neat pages and eight sets of carbons. It was twenty-five minutes of 12. With good luck she could reach the dock In time to see the great steamship let down the gangplanks. * * n GYPSY glanced down at her morning’s work. “Check the figures for errors," Miss Tuttle had said. Why—lt would take almost all of her precious twenty-five minutes to read copy on those ten pages! Tuttle had doubled the work on the day she knew Gypsy was in a rush to leave. Probably had done it purposely. Well, it was too late now! Not for all the office executives in the world would Gypsy miss meeting the boat which was to bring Alan Crosby home again. She Jumped up, gathering together the pages and rustling through a desk drawer for purse, gloves, and vanity case, she hurried into the adjoining office and laid the manuscript on Miss Tuttle’s desk. The older woman nodded and her straight lips tightened. Gypsy had reached the door when she heard her name called- She whirled about. “Yes, Miss Tuttle?” "You were careful to check your copies with the originals on this work, I suppose?” Surely it was a white lie and surely it was forgivable. Gypsy answered without a moment of hesitation. “Yes, Miss Tuttle.** “Very well. That’s all.” Gypsy didn’t give the matter another thought. She knew that memoranda for directors’ meetings were important, that prices and matters of policy might be determined by them. She knew the penalty such an error might bring and she forgot all these things. Down the hall she nearly ran to get her coat and hat. Jean Foster was waiting for her In the dressing room. “Listen, Gypsy, do you want to wear my new hat? You can have it till Monday.” "Thanks, honey. I guess I’d better wear my own. You’ve done a lot for me all ready today. Quick dabs of powder and a touch of llpst' while she spoke. The close-fitting brown beret jerked on at rakish gle. Now the tweed coat that hau seen two winters’ wear. "My glovesi" Gypsy wailed. “I had them Just a minute ago. Well —l’ll have to go without them!" “Right behind you.” Jean resc’- _ the gloves from the floor. "Angel! Well-good-by !" Gypsy had one hand on the door when something ir the other girl’s manner made her hesitate. Jean moved forward impulsively. "Gypsy,” she said, "you’re looking wonderful! I guess it’s because you are so happy. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” The curling lashes fluttered. No use to try to hide the dancing light in those brown eyes, the slow of happiness which shone from every feature of Gypsy Mcßride’s impertinent little face.

“Well, what do you think?" said Gypsy. “Oh, I hope you’ll be so happy! Do you—when are you going to be married?” It was an awkward moment. Then the girl at the door mastered her confusion and laughed tremulously. “I'll—Hl tell you an about It later! Have to run!" mam SHE hurried down the hall and caught the elevator car Just as It was descending. In another five minutes she was in a taxicab headed for the pier. “Hurry," she told the driver. "I’ve got to meet someone and I’m late.” “Do the best I can. Ma’am.” For two blocks they had the .right of way and sped through traffic. Then a changing signal light blocked them. Gypsy glanced out of the window and saw a clock In a, shop window. The hands poir £d at 10 minutes of 12. “But they’re always slow about getting people ashore,” Gypsy reassured herself. "I can make it yet if I’m lucky.” At that moment the taxi Jumped forward. Gypsy sat on the edge of the seat, clinging to each side. What was she to say when she met Alan? Probably none of the pretty speeches she had rehearsed. What would he look like? Would he have changed? A hundred questions seemed to be throbbing through her head. Topped by the one tremendously big, important question—what would Alan say to her? Folded away in Gypsy’s handbag, rather the worse for wear, was a letter. • She had read it several times that morning. The letter had been read and re-read frequently ever since its arrival five days before. The address was written in a bold, masculine hand and the postmark was Paris. She knew the words by heart. “Dear Gypsy,” Alan had said, “in ten days I’ll be home. I’ve Just come from the steamship office and this probably is the last note I’ll be able to get off before sailing. The boat Is the De Grasse and we get In Saturday noon. “Believe me, it will seem great to be back. I haven’t realized until these last two weeks just exactly how anxious I am to see New York. Anxious to see you, too, Gypsy. I wonder If 111 know you! “I’ve been saving the best news until last. Didn’t tell you I’d submitted some sketches to the Thomas Advertising agency, did I? Well, they liked them. We’ve had an exchange of letters and the result is that Monday morning, just about forty-eight hours after landing, I’m to report for my new Job. It won’t be much money at first, but once they realize the exceptional talent of this young man known as Alan Crosby of course things will be different. Anyhow, jobs for young artists are scarce. It makes the future a lot brighter knowing there’s a regular pay check ahead. "It certainly will be great to see you again, Gypsy. Do your eyes still have little sparks of red gold in them, and is your hair still long? I hope so. Do you still like butter cakes and long walks on Sunday afternoons? “There are so many other things I want to talk about, but they’ll wait. You’ll have to tell me all the news and I’ll try to impress you with my French, All thirteen words! We’ll have a party. “Thinking about home Is going to make these next ten days harder than ever to wait. Guess I’d better stop before I burst into poetry. So long, Gypsy. I’ll be seeing you! As ever—Alan.” (To Be Continued)

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Answer for Yesterday

COD IS NICE. IT ,LURES A CAT. THe letters from the first COD, IS NICE, when rearranged, will spell the word COINCIDES, and the letten from the second sentence, when rearranged, will spell ARTICULATES.

TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION

Upon the crumbling outer wall of the ruined city of Opar stood a lone figure. Tarzan, Jane Clayton and their black Waziri were the only stronger! that the denizens of Opar had ever seen within their valley. Only in half-forgotten legends of a bygone past were there any suggestion that strangers other than these had ever visited Opar. Yet from time Immemorial a guard had always remained upon the summit of the outer wall.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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—By Ahern

■JO BY T VFS DOEO? •Tfep Up fa ME'

As his wicked eyes watched the progress of the party across the valley, low growls issuing from his throat gave evidence of his growing excitement. Descending the wall, he passed at a rapid trot across the broad avenue beyond, and disappeared within a crumbling but still magnificent temple. Cadj, the high priest of Opar, squatted beneath the shade of the giant trees which now overgrew what had once been one of the gardens of the ancient temple. With Cadj were a dogen members of the lesser {trieffgrood, bis indffiate cronies,

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

All showed much concern as the breathless guard came amonf them and cried: ’'Strang* men descend upon Opar—fifty of them at least, still a great distance away!” All waited tor Cadj to speak. *Tt has been many moons since the great Tarmangani who called himself Tarzan of the Apes was among us,” spoke Cadj solemnly. "He promised to return to see that no harm befell La. But return he has not and the high priestess believes him dead. Come, we will go and see who It is dares enter forbidden QpSEi"

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser;

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin