Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 261, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 March 1931 — Page 14

PAGE 14

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BEGIN HERE TODAY (3YPBY McBRIDR 19-year-old typist Jb* Jx>t < which ALAN 1 CROSBY^U^ret ur nln from a year and Two nights jater Croatov break! an wnffMement with Gypsy. explaining be . tnß J£ e evening with business associates. The (rirl goes to the theater w,th a MRS - S There U a scene. Mr*. Langley drives away In her car and Gypsy and Crosby p home in a cab. Quarreling all the wav. text day at the offloe Gvpsv Is offered a promotion and takes a dictation test. She hurries home determined to apologise to Crosby. They meet and in the interview following Crosby makes It plain his former affection for Gypsy Is ended. Next day at the office Gypsy Is reprimanded for some careless work and she resigns her lob. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER EIGHT \¥THEN Gypsy opened the front ▼ V door, she heard footsteps on the seoond floor landing. Then a familiar voice called down: "Miss Mcßride—is that you, dearie?” “Yes, Mrs. O’Hare,” the girl answered. "Well, somebody’s been trying to get you on the telephone all afternoon. I told ’em you wouldn’t be in until 5, but they kept calling. Last time was about half an hour ago, I guess.” It couldn’t be—no, of course not! Gypsy told herself it was ridiculous to let her hopes rise. Still there was a quickening in her voice. "Do you know who it was?” "No, they didn’t give any name. Number’s on the pad beside the telephone, though. They said you were to call back.” Gypsy’s feet flew down the hall. At the far end was the pay telephone for the roomers’ use and beside it a pad on which messages were posted. There it was—"Mcßride—call Center 5942 before 6 p. m.” With a weary gesture the girl turned and started back down the stairs. "Did you find it?” the landlady’s voice persisted from above. "Yes. I know who it is—nothing very important, I guess.” “The woman who called the last time said you should be sure and ring the minute you came in!” Mrs. O’Hare said insistently. "Well, I guess—” Further discussion was interrupted by the jangle of the telephone bell. 'Til answer it,” offered Gypsy, turning back. "Oh, that’ll save me coming down. Thanks, dearie.” The girl placed the receiver to her ear. Immediately she recognized the voice at the other end of the line. “Hello,” the voice said, “May I speak to Miss Mcßride?” “This is she,” answered Gypsy. *Ts that you, Anne?” “Oh —at last I’ve found you. I’ve been trying all day long to get in touch with you! First I called your office and they said you’d gone. After that I tried this number. There’s something you’ve simply got to do for me—!” Just as she had thought. Whenever Anne Trowbridge called it was to ask a favor. Anne was the only relative of Gypsy’s who lived within 1,000 miles of New York, but their paths crossed so infrequently they seldom thought of each other as cousins. Anne had come to the city as the bride of Phil Trowbridge. She had “married well,” according to the old phrase. Anne’s father and Gypsy’s mother had been brother and sister, but the two girls never had seen each other until the day two years before when Gypsy had called on young Mrs. Trowbridge in her hotel suite. FROM that first day Gypsy had known they never could be friends. Anne, though she was three years old, never had worked at anything except making herself look attractive. Her mother (Gypsy’s Aunt May) had been a Carroll—with all the distinctions that name implies in the Maryland community in which Anne had spent most of her life. Here in New York Anne and her husband lived in an apartment on the upper east side. G - psy took Sunday dinner there twicj a year—and was slow about calling afterward. She thought Anne her, though in reality the fault was on both sides. It had been six months since she had heard Anne’s voice. "What do you want me to do, Anne?” Gypsy asked. “I want you to come to dinner. Oh, you must! You see, I’m having some people in for dinner and bridge. There were to be fourteen and this afternoon Mildred Lane

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was In a traffic accident and frac- 1 tured her arm. I simply can not have thirteen people—l’m terribly superstitious! —and every one I’ve called has been out of town or sick or giving parties. "You’re my only hope, Gypsy! Don’t bother to change. You can dress here. 11l lend you something ” So that was what to Anne’s mind was a tragedy! Gypsy had been trying to get a word in. Now she spoke abruptly: "Sorry,” she said. ‘Td like to help you out but I won’t be able to.” What was the usual excuse? Oh, yes, of course—“l—l have an engagement for the evening." Gypsy stumbled a bit over the words. “Oh, but Gypsy—can’t you break it off?” “Afraid not.” “But won’t you try?” There was nothing to do but work her way out. Gypsy tried a white lie. "I’ll try to,” she promised. 'Til call you back about it. I mean I’ll call you if I can come.” “Oh, I hope you can make it! Call before 6 o’clock—won’t you? I’ll be expecting to hear from you!” “All right. I’ll let you know if I can come. Goodbye.” Gypsy replaced the receiver and mounted the stairs. She walked slowly, discovering that dhe was tired. What if Anne’s dinner party were spoiled? What did that matter? Had Anne ever known what it was to feel this weight like lead in her heart, to face bitter loneliness—not Just for today but stretching on and on in the future? Had Anne ever known a pain like the one that had been throbbing at Gypsy’s forehead all afternoon? Well, then, who was Anne to need sympathy! * * 11 GYPSY reached her own room and entered. She threw her hat and coat on the bed and sank down beside them. It had been a long day. Purposely she had stayed away from the rooming house until after 5 o’clock, the usual time she arrived there. She did not want the other roomers of Mrs. O’Hare to know that she had given up her Job. They would be curious and Gypsy was in no mood for questions. She thought about tomorrow. Better start hunting a job, she supposed. What sort of job? It occurred then to Gypsy that employers would ask where she had worked before. They might want references. Should she go back to MacNamara’s and ask Miss Tuttle for a letter? Hardly that! There was McNider, the city editor who had helped her get the first job. She might call on him. Gypsy’s mind wandered, taking half a dozen different trails, but never far from the main subject. Where was Alan? What was he doing tonight? Suddenly the girl sprang up. She would not spend another evening here alone. She would not waste time thinking about Alan Crosby when he was having a gay evening with friends—friends whose company he preferred to liers. She stood in the center of the room, staring at the wall in indecision. Then she caught up her purse and ran down the stairs. Gypsy was breathless when she reached the telephone on the first floor. “Operator,” she called impatiently, “give me Center 5942. Hurry!” A man’s voice came over the wire. “Is this Pnil?” Gypsy asked. “This is Gypsy. Will you tell Anne I’m going to be able to come for dinner. Tell her I’m starting right away. Yes, I’ll try to get there in half an hour. That’s all. Good-by.” It was reckless to spend money on taxi fare, but Gypsy was in a reckless mooc . She pulled on hat and coat without even a glance in the mirror, and hurried out of the house. On the curb she signaled a cab and thirty-five minutes later was alighting at the caopied entrance of the up-town apartment. As the elevator car rose to the sixteenth floor, Gypsy had a moment of foreboding. She stifled it. Anything wag better than another evening alone. “Gypsy—l’m so glad you came!” Anne was waiting for her in the open doorway. Phil Trowbridge was there, too, and said a casual “good evening.” Gypsy always had liked Phil. Immediately the girl was whisked

down a corridor to Anne’s bedroom. “I knew you wouldn’t have time to dress, so I got this out for you. Do you like it?” 8 8 8 ! Anne trowbridge held up a creamy flowered chiffon with a vivid design in crimson, orange and dull green. Anne herself was gowned in flame. A stranger might have thought the girls were sisters. Anne was nearly an inch taller, but her frocks fit Gypsy perfectly. The older girl’s features were more regular. Anne’s hair was dark, but it was smooth and glossy instead of waving. Her complexion was fair and her eyes were blue. How like Anne to say Gypsy "didn’t have time to dress.” Os course she kr.ew the other girl had no such evening gown. “It’s lovely,” Gypsy said. “Glad you think so. Now hurry up and get into it. You’ll find everything you need on the dressing table. “Oh, do try my new rouge. Pm simply crazy about it. You'll excuse me, won’t you? I’ve got to see Phil. Dinner’s at 7, so you’ll have time if you hurry. If you want anything, just call !” The hostess disappeared. Gypsy pulled off her jersey office dress and hung it away in a closet. A bathroom, stunning in blue and silver, adjoined the bedroom. Gypsy took a quick plunge, wrapped herself in a rose negligee and went over to the dressing table. With an array of lovely bottles and boxes—all for the purpose of making Anne beautiful! Gypsy picked up a Jar of crystal and lifted the turquoise lid. There was creamy stuff inside with an odor sickeningly sweet. She rubbed some of the cream on her arm and found it pleasant. As she put the jar down, Gypsy caught a view of herself in the mirror. There were lamps at either side of the dressing table, flooding the glass with pitiless light. Gypsy studied her reflection; then she sat down before the dressing table and set to work. Twent minutes later there was a tap at the door. “Gypsy!” Anne Trowbridge called, “are you ready?” The door opened and Anne stepped into the room. “My dear!" she exclaimed, “you're looking wonderful!” “Am I all right? Did I get the dressed fastened the right way? Here—is this supposed to be like this?” Gypsy turned slowly for inspection. Anne was enthusiastic. “I never saw you looking so pretty!” she declared. “I’m proud of you. Come on out with me. Some oi the people are here and I want you to meet them.” Obediently Gypsy followed. She was wearing a lovely gown Und it had been amusing trying out Anne’s cosmetics, but already she wished the evening were over. She wished she had not come. Gypsy had no way of knowing that this was to be the most momentous evening of her life. (To Be Continued) Aged Woman Dies By Times Special COLUMBUS, Ind., March 12. Mrs. Alice Dillman, 70, wife of Charles L. Dillman, died at the family home here after an illness of nineteen months. She was born in Illinois but had lived in this city more than twenty years. She leaves a son and daughter, Robert Dillman and Mrs. Edith Whittington, this city; two brothers and a sister, Joe and James Sims, and Mrs. Jennie Munson.

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Answer for Yesterday

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TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION

’’Too often already have you attempted to thwart the will of your queen,” La charged fiercely. “Know then, that she also holds power of life and death over you, Cadj, high priest though you be, as well as the meanest slave of Opar. Our legends tell us that more than one high priest has been offered upon the Flaming God’s altar. Beware—lest you be added to that list!” Cadj sullenly sheathed his knife. But those who knew him best knew that he but waited for a propitious jhoment to have Tarzaa's life blood.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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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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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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Cadj had a strong following among the priests and people of Opar. La had aroused their antagonism by her mad infatuation for the apeman, years before. Furthermore, by their laws she had been compelled to mate with Cadj. But she made no effort to conceal her hatred and loathing for him. Cadj knew this, so it was not strange that he entertained treasonable thoughts toward his queen. Besides, there was another woman in the case. Oah, a lesser priestess, who aspired to |he power and offices of La.

—By Ahem

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If La could be done away with, then Cadj had influence enough to have Oah made high priestess. But as yet both were bound by the superstitious fear of their flaming deity. Because of this fact the life of La was not in danger for the present. It would require, however, but the slightest spark to ignite the fire of treason dormant in the hearts of her enemies, so far she was well within her rights in forbidding the sacrifice of Tarzan by the High Priest. But her fate, her very life, knew, depended upon the future treatment of the prisoner,

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

All this time Tarzan had shown no sign of life. Ignoring Cadj, La now crossed to the apeman’s side and silently, for several minutes, looked down upon him. Who can say what were her thoughts? “If he still lives,” she said at last, “construct a litter and bear him back to Opar.” This the priests did, with enigmatic faces, laying their gigantic burden, still bound, on a litter which they made. Thus it was that once again came Tarzan of the Apes into the ancient city of the Atlantians. Came again a living sacrifice to be offered upon the golden altar of the Flaming Sun-god of Opar i

.March 12,19^1

—By Williams

—By Blosser

*—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin