Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 266, Indianapolis, Marion County, 18 March 1931 — Page 8

PAGE 8

ItylAD MARRIAGES / LAURA LOU BROOKMAN Author of'HEARTtIUNGRY“etc.

BEGIN HEBE TODAY GYPSY M'BRIDE, 19-year-oid typist In a New York ofiioa. is miserable and lonely when she finds that ALAN CROSBY, *ust returned from a year and a hi . in Paris studying art, no longer cares lor her. Crosby Is Infatuated with MRS. LANGLEY, wealthy divorcee, who considers herself a patron of art Gypsy ecomes disgusted with her job and when she is criticised for careiessness impulsively resigns. She accepts an invitation from her wealthy cousin, ANNE TROWBRIDGE, to taka the place of another guest 8t a formal dinner. The party is a bors. She leaves to get her wraps ami go home, hears a noise in the next room and opens the door to see a man climbing in the window. He ia JAMES WALLACE guest of the Trowbridges, who has entered by the fire escape to avoid the dinner guests. Wallace tells Gypsy he has Just been tilted by his fiance. She admits she has had the same experience. To spite i ha girl he cares for Wallace asks Gypsy •o marry him- She first refuses, but later accepts. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THIRTEEN Oh, not for quite a while.” He ooked at his watch. "About 6:30 this evening, to be exact. Anxious to see the place?” Gypsy said she was. “You haven’t told me much about yourself,” she said. “What do you do? I mean your business you haven’t told me anything about that.” “I’m a lawyer,” he told her, That is, I’m supposed to be. Practice with Mark Harrison, who used to be my father’s partner. He’s one of the finest old fellows in the world. Smart, too! There’s another fellow in the firm named Blaire Mills. I’m the youngest. Been with the others three vears.” “Being a lawyer ought robe interesting.” “It’s all right,” Wallace agreed. “Have you know Phil Trowbridge a long while?” "Ever since we were in law school. Phil’s never practiced, has he? Seems to know how to make dough, all right. New York’s been good to him.” Wallace stirred restlessly. His embarrassment was contagious and Gypsy said no more. “Mind if I go smoke?” he asked. She said she did not. It was half an hour before he returned. There was furrow between Jim Wallace’s eyebrows as he resumed his seat. “Gypsy,” he said, leaning forward, “There’s something you ought to know.” tt tt at IT was plain from Wallace’s manner that what he had to say was important. “It’s about my family,” he said. I’d rather tell you myself than have you hear it from any one else.” Gypsy waited. Her heart was beating rapidly. There was nothing that she could think of to say. “Last night,” went on Wallace, “I told you I’d lived with my aunt ever since I was a kid. Aunt Ellen was my father’s sister. She never married. “I was 12 when my mother died. Pneumonia. She was sick less than a week with it. Father w 7 as away on a business trip and he didn’t get home in time. When he did—l guess it was rather terrible. “They’d never been separated before for more than a day or two in all the time they were married. Well, two weeks later father shot himself.” Gypsy’s shocked “Oh-h!” was involuntary. The exclamation was out before she could stifle it. Wallace was watching her. “Most people,” he said, “seem to think it’s a disgrace. That’s why I wanted to tell you myself. Somehow I can’t think of it that way. To me it’s grown to be—beautiful.” Gypsy nodded slowly. He barely could hear her words. “He must have been awfully fond of her!” she said. “He must have loved her.” “He left a note. I think Aunt Ellen has it yet. All it said was that he couldn’t live without her and he didn’t want her to be anywhere alone. “Os course I didn’t understand at the time. Tough for a kid to lose both parents, but Aunt Ellen did everything any one could to make up for a father and mother both.” Gypsy put out one hand and laid it on Wallace’s arm. “I’m glad you told me,” she said. Jim Wallace looked out the window after that and the girl had no way of knowing what he might be thinking. He turned his head again when she spoke. “Your Aunt Ellen—” Gypsy began, “Do you think she’ll like me?” An uncomfortable premonition was stirring at the girl’s heart.

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“Os course she will,” Wallace assured her with bland masculine crenity. “Why shouldn’t she?”Gypsy smiled. “Lots of reasons,” she said. “She’ll be glad to see you,” the young man insisted. “She’s been telling me for the last six months that I ought to get married. Thinks I should settle down.” He grinned, indicating that this was humorous. a u a TT was on the tip of Gypsy’s tongue to ask if his aunt wanted him to marry or if she wanted him :to marry a particular girl. That would make a difference. Then she remembered it would hurt Jim as much to talk about his former fiancee, as it was hurting her now whenever she thought of Alan Crosby. Poor Jim—it must be a trying morning for him, too. Perhaps Aunt Ellen would be glad to see her. Anyhow she would try to think so. Wallace held up his wrist and looked at his watch. “Twelve o’clock,” he announced. “Are you ready for lunch?” Gypsy said she rather would wait. For half an hour Wallace devoted himself to his newspaper and the girl stared at the printed pages before jier. Not once in that half hour did she turn the page. Then a Negro boy in stiffly starched white uniform came through the car singing out, “Luncheon now being served in the dining car!” Wallace glanced over the top of the newspaper and Gypsy nodded to signify that she was ready. A solicitous head waiter ushered them to a table In the center of the car and offered the menu. Only about half of the places at the other tables were occupied. Across the car at the right Gypsy noted the woman with the beautiful mink wrap. She was eating her luncheon alone. Gypsy glanced at the young man facing her and felt a thriH'of possession. He was her husband—and a husband to be proud of! Whatever madness she had committed, however much she might later regret the morning events, Jim Wallace looked strong and dependable and a young man to be relied upon. She began to notice attractive features of his appearance that had not impressed her before. Not, of course, that he was handsome. Jim Wallace was almost the exact opposite of the type of man Gypsy admired most. His face was ruddy, but it suggested days in the open with the wind whipping against his cheeks. If. was the ruddiness that goes with t right blue eyes and with flaxen hau-. Twice that morning Jim had surprised her with a quick, flashing smile that was like sunlight on steel. The smile had completely transformed him. Most of the time, however, he was soberfaced, and the eyes held a look which Gypsy could not understand. She noticed for the first time that Wallace’s chin might have been modeled from the figure of an athlete in a Grecian frieze. Strong. Splendid. Firm. She liked the well-tailored, careless look of his clothes. Gypsy heaved a tiny sigh. Her husband! Now Wallace was frowning over the menu. “What would you like?” he asked. “Any suggestions?” 1 “I’m not very hungry,” Gypsy admitted. “Do you good to eat. I didn’t have much breakfast myself. How would you like to start with oysters?” She might have informed him that her own breakfast had been exactly one cup of black coffee, but shite did not. “I’d rather have fruit,” was what she answered. “Is there grapefruit?” a a a YES, there was grapefruit. Wallace ordered blue points for himself. After that they had chops and a salad of vegetables and Gypsy chose ice cream for dessert and her husband • ate a large wedge-shaped portion of apple pie. They were having the dessert when Gypsy smiled across at him. “Here,” she said, cutting into halves the tiny square of cake that was served with her ice cream. “You must eat half. It’s the wedding cake.” Wallace flushed. “Not much a party, I guess, is it?” he said. “We’ll have to make up for it when we get home. Have a dinner

party with one of those fancy cakes two feet high ” Gypsy shook her head. “I’d rather not,” she said. “I like this way better.” She held the plate for him to take his half of the bit of cake with its hard, dry icing. It was not very good cake, but each of them ate it. They had coffee and then went back to the other car. It was a long afternoon. There were a dozen things about the new life in Forest City that Gypsy would iave liked to ask about, but she was hesitant. She wanted to know about the house. All he had told her was that his grandfather had built it and three generations of Wallaces had lived there. She wondered about his friends. They would come to call on her she supposed. Gypsy had heard that people in small cities were neighborly, always “dropping in” in friendly fashion. It was a little frightening. She gazed out the window for long periods at a time staring at the countryside. Os; en they passed through towns without stopping. Did the little towns feel slighted, Gypsy wondered? Wallace had met a man in the club car who knew one of his clients. He .came back to Gypsy, mentioning the fact. She told him she did not mina being' alone and soon he was gone again. Now it was 4 o’clock. Two and a half more hours and they would be in Forest City. “Another hour and Alan will be leaving the office,” Gypsy thoughtto herself. “What is he going to do tonight? Why does it make any difference to me? “He said he was going to paint Mrs. Langley’s picture. That’s where he’ll be, of course. When will he find out I’m gone? If he should telephone Mrs. O’Hare’s they’d tell him . If he’d telephone tonight —but he won’t! “I know he won’t telephone! Some day he’ll find out, though. Some day he’s sure to knovr about it!” She thought about writing a letter to Jean Foster at the office and while she was thinking about it had the grace to blush. It was only because she was groping for some way to reach Alan that she had considered writing to Jean. Had she forgotten that she was married? . a a a GYPSY turned away from the car window. It was the flying telephone poles, the flying houses and towns that had inspired such thoughts. The landscape seemed to jeer back at her: “You’re running away—but you can’t! You’re running away, but your thoughts won’t let you!” If only there was something she could do. Gypsy locked down at the purse in her lap, mechanically opened it and drew out the red enamel vanity case. She snapped the lid back and inspected herself in the mirror. The reflection was not flattering. Gypsy patted powc.er on her nose and chin until the shine was gone. Then she reddened her mouth with lipstick, smothing it with her little finger to make it even. She was trying to get her hair into order when the magazine in her lap fell to the floor. “Let me get it for you!” The young man in gray who had been walking through the car smiled as he returned the magazine. “Thank you.” Gypsy’s tone was cool and dignified. The young man hesitated, apparently thought better of it and went on, disappearing through the car door. (To Be Continued)

■STICKER* IN THE POMP OF •••• AND CHAINS HE LORDS (T O'ER THE TOWN THE •••• Or HIS HOPES HE CAINS WHO •••• With half a crown. Three four-lettered words, aD composed of the same letters, are missing from the above verse. Can yoo supply them? — ia

Answer for Yesterday

j[ V \| A n JJ To score exactly 100 on the afiove target, six shots would be fired, two of which would hit in the 16 section and four within the 17 section.

TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION

Quickly LA related to Tarzan all that Manu, the monkey, had heard and told her. “Whether I saved you or sacrificed you," she ended, “it had been the same with me. They were determined to do away with me, that Cadj might be king and Oah, High Priestess of Opar. This was the only way we might both be saved, though, indeed, I had no opportunity to secure weapons for you." “I will find weapons,” declared Tarzan. "Meanwhile we are free. But whither leading me?”

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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"North and west are Cadj’s warriors. Ahead lies an unknown country,’* LA said, "for us Oparians it is filled with legends of grim monsters and strange people. But if there lives in all the world one who could win through this unknown valley, it is you, Tarzan of the Apes. Lions and apes come down this trail to Opar. Beyond it I have never been. What lies beyond, the lion*, of course, can sot tell us. And the great apes will not!" “it is well,” replied Tarzan. "We will face these unknown together!”

—By Ahern

t MEAN SPORML RifAfAe.O Y l i \ - —x. hecTacles! “■ -7/~ OPTt CAL V *5 P DEPT _ /TT '. *>''•?> ° > - S , For OLASS6S SEE us. NO, MO,. OAVJGOMUITt | fAEAM W6CK- j l KNOW WHAT

The ape-man gazed down at the wooded basin below them, his mind full of the hazard of their plight. Alone, he would not have hesitated. But now he must think of LA. In her efforts to save him she had placed him under a strong moral obligation to save her. But he felt an irresistible Impulse to explore that halfconcealed edifice, so huge and magnificent. Who could haye built it? The ape-mafo knew no fear. "Come!” he said to LA. “You are not going—there?” she cried in astonishment.

OUT OUR WAY

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(1 SODA, sWoW This oent a V A C. PAVR. OG < * - *

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

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"Why not?” he asked. "It is the shortest way across the valley.” "But I am afraid,” she said, "the Flaming God alone knows what hideous dangers lurk in the valley below us.” "We need not fear lions nor apes." "You fear nothing,” said LA, “but I am only a woman.” “We can die but once,” said Tarzan, "and who can foretell when? Fear will not avert death—but it WILL make life miserable. Come! We must taka the risk!”

-MARCH 18, 1931

—By Williams

—By Bios£.er

—By Crane

—By Smail

—By Martin