Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 257, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 March 1931 — Page 24

PAGE 24

MAD MARRIAGE-1]

BEGIN HERE TODAY GYPSY McBREDR 19-year-old typist, tc deltved at work on th# Saturday rnorr.tn*' when she it to meet the boat brlnsin* ALAN CROSBY home from a vear and a half studvln* art In Paris. Ovpty has known Crosby aince the day* when both of tham lived at the same cheap rooming house. The couple are not engaged, hut there has been an understand;!*" between them. They meet on the nier and Crosby’s greeting is less affectionate than Gvpsy’a. She sees a beautiful woman in black wevnlg to the young man. Crosby explains casually shat this is a MRS. LANGLEY whom he met on the boat. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THREE Crosby kissed her. This time on the cheek and tenderly. Almost immediately the cab stopped. "Why, we’re here!” exclaimed t.he girl. “Does the place look familiar?” "Certainly does. Oh, oh—new curtains! Gypsy, you should have prepared me for the shock. New curtains! Otherwise I’d swear it was yesterday that I left.” She ran up the steps ahead of him but before she could push the bell the door opened. Mrs. O’Hare in her best blue silk, her black hair glorified by bobbing ringlets, appeared in the hallway. “Mr. Crosby 1" she cried. "My, but it’s grand to see you home again!” “Thank you, Mrs. O’Hare. It’s fine to see you.” “And your old room is waiting for you,” the landlady went on crisply. “It’s had fresh paint and anew carpet since you saw it last. “But never mind about that now. Dinner’ll get cold! Come in and let me take your hat and coat. Everything’s ready, Gypsy. Come right on to the dining room!” There was a heartiness about Mrs. O'Hare which swept all else before her. Crosby and Gypsy found themselves in the rear dining room. Other guests crowding about them. “It’s a surprise!" Gypsy explained. “Mrs. O’Hare wouldn’t let me tell you. All the other roomers are here.”. Hasty Introductions followed. The hostess led Alan to the head of the table. “You’re to sit here, Mr. Crosby,” she said. "Gypsy, you take this chair on the left.” The young man hesitated. “I wonder—would you mind if I made a telephone call?” he asked. "Why, certainly not. You remember where the phone is.” The others found their places and the seconds dragged as, with unusual formality, they stood waiting. Two fiery circles burned in Gypsy Mcßride’s cheeks. It must have been nearly five minutes before the young man returned to his place beside Mrs. O’Hare. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said soberly, “but I must ask you to excuse me. Something unexpected has coine up. It’s—it’s a business matter. I hope you won’t mind?” The young man smiled winningly. A minute later he was gone.

THE afternoon sunlight, pouring into the southwest windows of Catherine Langley’s sitting room, sifted through curtains of pale gold gauze and fell in gleaming yellow pools on a carpet over which ancient Persians had toiled. Part of the sunlight caught in the dark green draperies which reached to the floor. Part of it fell on velvet upholstery and fine carved walnut. And some of the sunbeams—a particularly favored group—danced about the titian head of Catherine Langley who, at 34, still looked young enough and lovely enough to defy dancing sunbeams. She was leaning back against a low, tapestry-covered divan. Her frock of sheer green crepe with delicate embroidered traceries of gold, had been cut and fitted by a designer whose name was world famous. The glowing auburn hair, swirling with careless perfection and drawn back from the ears, was like a coronet. Mrs. Langley’s aristocratic face was utterly pale except for the lips, which formed a narrow crimson bow. Her eyes were the green of her gown, shaded with gray. Everything about her—from the flaming bowl of poppies on the mantlepiece to the Jade ash tray on tlie low table beside her—had been chosen as stage properties to enhance the beauty of their owner. Mrs. Langley’s expression was thoughtful. She spoke in a low, contralto voice: “But you must see,” she was saying, “how important it is for you to know these people! They havfe influence and they’ll help you.” Alan Crosby snuffed out his cigaret and moved uneasily.

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“I know,” he said, “only—lll feel like a four-flusher. You know how lucky I think I am even to get a SSO-a-week Job. I’m not ashamed of it—” “But, Alan, dear, they’re my friends! And you know I do so want to help you!” Crosby leaned toward her. "You are helping me,” he said. “You have. I don’t suppose you could ever realize how much you’ve done I for me! “Why, Just looking at you and ; knowing any one could be so beau- ! tlfui is something I can’t quite ex- ; press.” Catherine Langley smiled serenely. Compliments pleased her. “Then you’ll do just this one little thing to please me?” she asked softly. “This one little thing—for me?” The young man hesitated. His dark eyes grew serious. “Catherine,” he said earnestly, “you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you! But don’t you see the situation? I’ve got to work and make money. A lot of it. Right .away. Every cent I had I spent In France.” mam THERE was silence for a moment. From beneath lowered lashes Mrs. Langley studied the tiny tip of a green kid slipper. "You—you mean you think you oughtn’t to see me any more?” Her voice was low, carefully restrained. It brought Crosby to his feet and beside her. “Os course not! Catherine, you can’t think that! That isn’t what I mean at all. It’s—oh, damn it! Don’t you see that’s exactly what I don’t mean?” The gold lashes raised for a fleeting instant, lowered again. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Alan,” said Mrs. Langley. “Suppose you tell me.” He had taken both of her hands in his. “But I can’t tell you!” Crosby explained. “I can’t tell you now. It’s because you’re so wonderful yourself that monfy—all these luxuries you take as a matter of course—seem unimportant. “But they are important. And they take money. That’s why I’ve got to work. You’ll let me come to see you just the same, won’t you? Not at parties, Catherine, but evenings when-we can be alone? “Times when we can talk together the way we did in Paris! That’s the way you can help me. You understand, don’t you?” The vanity which was the chief force in Catherine Langley’s personality had been stirred. She raised Crosby’s hand and touched it gently to her cheek. “I understand,” she said, “that you are a dear boy. Is that enough?” The gray-green eyes were guileless. It was a part Mrs. Langley had played frequently and she played it well. Young men in the early 20s (Crosby was 24) found. that clear gaze devastating. i There was a wordless instant.' Then he caught her in his arms, i Crosby’s lips were pressing kisses on Catherine’s cheeks, upon the flaming, painted Cupid’s bow that was her month. Over and over again he kissed her. “Catherine!” he whispered at last brokenly. “Oh, Catherine!” She drew away slightly. A faintly mocking, quality came into the woman’s smile. She knew so exactly how to time her moods. This young artist not only would be a handsome escort, but he was proving manageable. It would all be as easy as she had hoped. “There will be other times,” she reminded him, rising. “And we will have evenings together—as in Paris. But my little party this evening—you’ll come?” Crosby nodded. “Os course I will.”' Mrs. Langley moved toward the mantel and drew one of the scarlet tulips from the amber bowl. Then she turned about, toying with the blossom. She could see her reflection in the mirror across the room. She was pleased with the reflection. man THE young man waited, watching. Now he arose. “I wish I could paint you as you are, standing there!” he exclaimed. “Lord, Catherine, you’re beautiful! There’s no one like you!” She waved aside his words. Always there was purpose beneath the silken exterior of Mrs. Langley’s manner but that purpose was deftly concealed. I “Let me see if you mean that,”

j she said quickly. . “Will you do me a favor?” "You know that I will.” She paid him with a smile. “Very j well. Then you can paint me. I ' will pose for you any time you say. The favor is that you ate to move from that wretched downtown rooming house. Remember, you’ve promised.” “I’ll have to find a place as cheap.” “You can do that. There are a dozen neighborhoods to choose from.” “They’ve—they’ve been awfully nice to me down there.” “Whom do you mean by ‘they’?” “Why—the woman who runs the place. The others who stay there.’’ Mrs. Langley smiled. “That proves you need me to see you’re not imposed upon,” she said. “It’s only that I want you to be comfortable so you can do your best work, dear. Is that so dreadful?” He agreed that it was not. He would move within the next few days. Antrway before the end of the week. ~ Crosby left the apartment with the promise to return at 7 o’clock. They were to attend a dinner party with friends of Mrs. Langley. Gypsy m’bride spent that Saturday evening in her tiny fourth-floor bedroom. She had waited downstairs until late afternoon when Alan came in. There had been a few words between them and then Gypsy made excuses. Something in a muffled voice about meeting friends. No one noticed that after the girl had climbed the stairs to her room she did not go out to dinner. For three years now that room with the sloping ceiling and two rear windows had been Gypsy’£ home. She had moved to Mrs. O’Hare’s as soon as she had been able to give up the flat in Brooklyn after her father died. Jerry Mcßride’s insurance paid his burial expenses, one month’s rent, a few scattered debts and left S3OO in the bank. The city editor of the newspaper on which Jerry had been a copyreader for eight years gave Gypsy the letter of introduction which had brought about her employment as a typist by the MacNamara Electrical Supply Company. The business training she had received in high school was meager preparation with which to earn a livelihood, but Jerry’s daughter had inherited some of her father’s pluck. That Saturday evening—alone in her dreary quarters—was one of the occasions when Gypsy had need to call upon this inheritance. She sank down upon her favorite seat—a little old trunk pulled before the windows and covered with gay floral cretonne. The windows were closed and Gypsy raised one of them to its full height. The fresh, cool air was comforting. She took a deep breath and leaned her arms against the window sill. In the west the sun was shining, but its light was hidden by the housetops. There was a single tree in the small square of rear yard which Gypsy could see and a line hung with laundry. . (To Be Continued.)

STICKEftS

A Race six matches in the positions shown above. Then, by changing the positions of two of them and adding one ! more match, you can form two diamonds. I Try it ! *>l

Answer for Yesterday

J G DCH 1 I FA BE BI BDEB 96 3 27 850 14r 81,34 l ' !n order that the letters shown above oe changed into numbers and work out as indicated in the letter problem, the following numerical values must be given to the various letters? A, O 5 B, I;C.2;D, 3; E, 4; F, 5; G, 6; H, 7; 1, 8 and J, 9. The way it works out is shown above, in die figure problem. , ; 9

TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION

Ik the dim recesses of the monkey’s little brain a plan formed to foil the priests and save Tarzan of the Apes. This was quite the most important thing that had occurred in the life of Manu. He wanted to dance up and down, screech and jabber—to scold and threaten the hated Oparians. But something told him nothing would be gained by this. So he sprang into a tree and tried very hard to concentrate upon the thing, at hand.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

Ti<3H(T CORMER J—- MARX,. "THS 'TAiLCR, PUT* A rs ! I CA*d W? AIMT GcrT MotHiaT '> -&U- OF *ThA T r OWE i REMEMBER WvIEaI ['> vjHAT’RE -fWgy ’ } rilM, Hd-TrlE tfAUDS OF 2 UTTIE UK'S \ GaMKiA Do ABOUT { A COLLECT/Ort A6ELICV J\ A “THREATENED LAW /l rt"? —-IWEV ~ AASD-raeV rtAV/E ? I SdtT PiDAiT WORRV J? CA*iV SQUEEZE ( served me virfH A v Him aawmcre -tHaai f rum out of a CURT DEMALiD "To PAV, J( A VJR/AiKLE WOULD J ) WINDOW UiE/aMT T ft v a* Xu. BE SUED' f \ Bcm-IER A /1 AS TH’ PoET M I COAiCEPT/AiA * VSAVS sa

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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Just before darkness fell, Cadj, the high priest, saw a little gray monkey disappear over the summit of the quter wall some fifty paces from where he and his fellows crouched, wait* ing for the coming of the fighting men. But monkeys were numerous about the ruins of Opar and Cadj paid this one little attention. So he did not see the littl-3 gray figure scamper off across the valley toward the intruders who were camped now upon a large kopje, about a mile from the city, f

—B*’ Ahern

r WOW ARE You seeuwo- ) ttioT So <JOOD,LADT-ArTeC\ 'TfeUR PARROTS MISTER.’? JvJHAT OOSIOMeRS HEAR. K VIHftT THe-V say l

'••• v e<i>- c . ■'

Little Manu was very much afraid out there in the growing dusk. But he scampered on very fast, with his tail up and out behind him. He reached the kopje safely, pausing on its summit to take breath. Yes, there below him was the great Tarmangani, Tarzan. With him were some fifty Gormangani. They seemed to be building crude ladders out of small branches lashed against long poles. The purpose of all this, course did not understand

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

If he had, he would have known it was part of the plan born in the fertile brain of Flora Hawkes. By this means her men were to scale the steep kopje, at the top of which lay the hidden entrance to the treasure vaults of Opar He would have known, too, that the giant white man was Esteban, the “false'’ Tarzan, and not the ape-man himself. But Manu did not know, and so, regaining his breath, he climbed down to deliver his warning to the supposed friend of his uecfdle

.MARCH 6,1961

—By Williams

—By Blo?;ser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin