Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 39, Indianapolis, Marion County, 25 June 1931 — Page 11

.TUNE 25,1931

flea rtfLiane A W MABEL MCFI I lOTT /

TTiVr „ begin here today ltane barreit, is and beautiful r- I IHf T_ 0 ' j T of tha convent. Her mother BARRETT, a rather faded actre*V Jg“" her inability to give the giri Liane has a part-time Job In a N*w hJ?t£.. de ? artme . ru *V >r * one of the hottest days of early summer when the theater in which Cass is playing is about to close she revives an o*!?r to loin a summer stock company at Wil*°St §il£?slv Lrn <t Island. ELSIE MINTER. Ingenue, also Is asked ciFrapAnnw* mad * bv MRS CJJIEBPAUOH. ▼.fa Ithv patron of the Willow Stream theater. n _ <=• £Si h *i,ii°Tu e fell Liane the nexfi. She ftnds the Kiri sron**- to dinner with MOLLY CRONIN a with® bor. and two of Molly’# men friends. Casa disapproves of Molly Cronin T „®2? n .*Lfl2S* Liane which T com *.. at ° n °e to—24th .1 nl you.’* Cass terrified, Mrnyumn e „ an(! learns from SHANE McDERMIp. yountt policeman in charge, u d a * a Wlln *s* In a J'hlch bas occurred. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER ONE ''Continued) Cass thought It drab and horrible, with its smell of cooking and dusty carpet, its dingy walls and dejected Nottingham curtains. No thrills here, surely! But Liane—where was Liane? a a a THE woman caught a glimpse of a familiar red hat in the gloom of the back room. She staggered forward. “Liane, child!” she cried. She had the girl in her arms, sobbing. Cass straightened up. She said to the young policeman standing so sternly near by: “I am her mother. What has happened?” Molly Cronin she ignored. Shane McDermid eyed her sternly. "Plenty’s happened! These two were in here tonight with a coupla tough boys from downtown. One of the guys pulled a rod an’ his partner's in Bellevue with q, slug In his chest. Whether he’ll live or not I don’t know, but, alive or dead, it’s bad business. Cass’ hand went to her breast automatically In the gesture of terror she had so often used on the stage. "What’s a kid like this,” the policeman continued, belligerently, "doin’ out with these gorillas?” “I’m sure I never dreamed—!” Cass’ voice was angry, too, now. "Liane, how could you ever do such a thing?” She whirled on the man of the law, anew thought terrifying her. ' She’s not—she’s not under arrest? What are you going to do with her?” “Hold her,” said the young man stolidly. Then, more mercifully, he added, "Hold her for a witness. I can and will unless you explain to my satisfaction, ma’am, why a slip of a child like this one is let run the streets at night.” "Oh, I can, officer, I can!” Cass panted. "Liane is never allowed to go out without me and she’s a good girl. She really is! Why, she’s only out of St. Ann’s, up at Peekskill, these two weeks!” "St. Ann’s, eh?” mused Shane McDermid, softening. He looked at Liane again. Cass continued, "I know she didn’t know what she was getting into! It’s only that she’s been working so hard— at Willabaugh’s, you know. On her feet all day, poor child, and no fun afterward. And then it's been so hot Everybody does foolish things when It’s hot.” She was frankly pleading now. "She has so few friends in the city and I suppose she wanted a bit of excitement for once. You know how young girls are—” "Well, she got excitement, all right,” said the policeman, nodding grimly. “And though I'm ashamed to say it, it's my own cousin here that's responsible for dragging her into this.” He favored Molly with a baleful stare. “My own flesh and blood,” he admitted, nodding his head sorrowfully. “Can’t you let her go now?” Cass pleaded. "I’ll give you my name and address. You can call on us if you need us. Only don’t give her name to the papers! She's just a baby. It would be too horrible!” McDermid looked around reflectively. One of his men came to the door, looked in, said “Oke, sergeant,” to something McDermid muttered, and went away again. Shane took Molly’s arm. “Look ye here,” he said fiercely. "Take this child and her mother out that back door. It leads into a court—some store arcade—and you can get through to Twentythird street. And all of you say a prayer that boy gets better.” Cass tried to thank him. She couldn’t, somehow. He waved them

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off. To Molly he said meaningly, ‘l'll be seein' you!” a a a W r HEN Molly, shamefaced, had taken leave of’ them, Cass, very tired now, turned toward the theater with her daughter. Liane lagged along, casting occasional frightened glnaces at her mother’s white, set face. “Mother, I'm terribly sorry !’’ she began. Cass turned to her. “Don't say another word," she commanded, in a breaking voice. “It’s my fault, utterly mine. A child like you, in th.s town! It’s unthinkable. You ought to be petted and coddled and protected, instead of being thrown to the wolves this way. My baby!” It was better than any sermon. Liane’s back straightened. She said: “You’re net to say such things, mother. I’m old enough to stand on my own feet. It’s not your fault. I feel a beast to have let you in for this.” Cass looked at a clock in a shop they were passing. “Heavens!” she said, in a spent voice. "It’s only 7:30. I feel as if I had been through hours of worry and even now I shall be in time to play. Thank goodness, I’m not cn in the first scene.” And that was all. Liane squeezed her arm. "Mother, you’re sweet!” she said in a very small voice. “I’ll sit out on the fire escape,” she said to Cass, when the latter rushed in to change after the first act. “It’s terribly hot out front, and I’ve seen this at least ten times this season.” She wanted to be alone in the dark and the coolness to review the events of this dramatic evening. It didn’t seem possible that she, Liane Barrett, could have been involved in such a horrible adventure. Her heart trembled to think of it. She perched on the iron balcony outside the dressing room her mother shared with Elsie. The noises of the street in front came to her with a muted quality. A fire siren screamed and tore through the night. Somewhere in the flats across the way a baby howled. Taxis rushed through the darkness, their brakes screaming as they drew up at the cross streets. Trolley cars clanged and elevated trains rattled cheerfully along. It was not exactly sylvan quiet, but it seemed peace incarnate to the troubled young girl. She thought: “I wonder why they call it ‘the bright face of danger.’ To me danger i s anything but bright.” And she shivered, remembering. When the performance was over, Liane blundered down the stairs' looking for Wr. Wells. There was a message for him, the callboy said He couldn’t be found. At the door of his office she stood, slim and defenseless in the half light. A tall man unwound himself from Vernon’s chair. “Are you looking for someone?” he asked pleasantly. “For Mr. Wells.” Their glances met, locked. For a split second, Liane knew a moment of pure panic, a dizziness. There was something impelling in those dark, deep-set eyes, something almost hypnotic. "He’s not about. I’ll have to look further,’’faltered the girl. The stranger took a step forward “Wait here and I’ll find him,” he said in that strangely compelling voice. And there was laughter in it. "Do wait, Liane,” he said. She fled, murmuring excuses. If this curious fluttering she felt were love, Liane reflected, then it was a strange thnig. Because this man knew her name, and she never had seen him before in her life! a a a CHAPTER TWO WILLOW STREAM was a sleepy seaside village of narrow, elm-shaded streets, slipping off into a countryside of surprising loveliness. The taxi, which carried Cass and Liane up from the station on that hot June day, rattled through lanes smelling of honeysuckle. Peonies bloomed in the dooryards and there were great clumps of purple iris everywhere. The cab drew up at 20 Dogwood lane. Here was a low. white house banked in barberry and evergreen. The knocker was heavy, old and rusted. Everything about the place looked

slightly run-down. The porch sagged and the shingles needed paint. But to Cass and Liane, with eyes accustomed to the brick and mortar of the smoldering city, the place had an air of ease and even beauty. Mrs. Smithers answered the clangos of their knock and showed them to their rooms. Cass said, looking about the low-eaved third story apartment, "I wonder if this won’t be terribly hot.” Mrs. Smthers assured them it was amazingly cool under the roof. The two had to take her word for it. Mrs. Smithers was a small, ruddy woman in blue gingham. Her hair was white and her blue eyes had a gentle melancholy as did her voice. The place smelled of gingerbread and applesauce. Liane loved that as well as the white iron bed with its honeycomb counterpane. She loved the uneven, painted floor with the rag rugs, the washstand with its quaint bowl and pitcher. There was a bathroom cn the second floor, their landlady explained, with a modest pride. She supposed “city folks” would find it “kind of inconvenient.” Liane and Cass tried to look as if they were used to the most lavish quarters so that she might not be disillusioned. They left their bags and started to walk to the theater. The playhouse was located on a corner of the Cleespaugh estate on the shore. There w’ould be no trouble, said Mrs. Smithers, in finding it, as or-ange-painted arrows marked the way all along the road, “The Willow Stream playhouse, one mile.” a a a THROUGH the trees ahead they could glimpse that graystone pile which was the Cleespaugh mansion. It was done quite in the English manner, with ivy clambering over the walls, with mullioned windows and velvet terraces descending to a dream of a garden. "There’s a place,” sighed Liane, “you wouldn’t be ashamed to take the boy friend!” . Cass laughed, then looked shocked. “Where do you pick up such dreadful talk?” she wanted to know. Liane said, “Elsie always jokes about boy friends. It isn't considered vulgar any more, Mother. It’s whimsical. Elsie says all our best people use the phrase.” Cass sniffed. Obviously she had her own opinions about "our best people.” The road led away now from the house and in a little glade beyond they could see the red tiled roof of the playhouse. A little group already had assembled. Cass could see Elsie, very animated, wearing a pink sports dress and engaging a lean yourg man inconversation. Vernon Wells was superintending the unloading of a van. Mrs. Cleespaugh, in another of her astonishing embroidered gowns of a past era, lifted her lorgnette to survey the scene. Liane suddenly was overwhelmed by maidenly shyness. She did not know all these people and these she did know seemed new and strange, removed from their familiar surroundings. She began to feel panicstricken about her. job. Would she be clever enough to talk to people as briskly as she ought, to make change and take charge of all that money? She felt decided qualms. Elsie’s greeting was reassuring. "Hello, kid, how're things?” Yes, Elsie was nice and friendly. Liane’s heart warmed to her. True, she was rather snoopy at times, liked to ask personal questions, and liked to pry. But Liane felt that her simple friendliness made up for all that. “We don’t begin until Thursday night,” Elsie volunteered. "The old man” (she made a disrespectful face at Vernon’s back) “is having fits because the velvet curtains arrived two inches too long. “The decoraotrs have to dash out tomorrow and take a tuck in them. And the lighting system has gone blooey out here in the wilds.” Elsie seemed pleased, on the whole, at this delay. Liane went around to the front of the small theater and peered in. Electricians were making a great to do, bawling back and forth at each other. Carpenters were hammering. (To Be Continued)

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Answer for Yesterday

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TARZAN, LORD OF THE JUNGLE

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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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From the darkening sky distant thunder boomed. ”Pand, the thunder, is hunting,” said Tarzan. “Usha, the wind, flees through the trees to escape from Ara, the lightning,” replied Bolgani. The rain fell in great masses, the elements unleashed their pent anger. The two beasts cowered beneath the one awe-inspiring powar that they acknowledged as supreme.

—By Ahern

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Tarzan huddled in the storm-tossed foliage of the great tree. Bolgani, in bedraggled misery, squatted iust off the trail. They waited. Above them the storm continued unabated. Came a blinding flash, of light, deafening thunder, and then the bfanch upon which Tarzan squatted sagged and hurtled to the trail beneath.

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

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PAGE 11

—By William>

—By Bloss3r;

—By Crane

—By Small

By Martin