Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 47, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 July 1931 — Page 9

JULY 4, 1931

flea rtf Liane'.£ oy MABEL MCEIJLIOTT /

BO IN llEttr. TODAY DIANE BARRETT. 18 and beautiful, lives in a cramped New York apartment With her mother. CASS BARREri, a rather faded actress. On a hot night Liana goes to dlitfier with MOLLY CRONIN, a neighbor, and two of Molly's men friends. There is a shooting and the girl Is held a* a witness. She sends a note to her mother who arrives and persuades SHARE McDERMID. the young policeman in charge, that Llane la Innocent ot wrong-doing That night at the theater where Cass Is playing. Liane encounter's a handsome stranger who speaks her name. A few days later Cass and I<iane go to Willow Stream. L. 1., where Cass has an engagement in a small summer theater ipomsorcd by wealthy MRS. CI.EESPAEGH, a widow with one son. CLIVE Llano works In the box office, sharing duties with MURIEL LADD, pretty society girl. At Muriel’s home Llane again meets the handsome stranger who spoke to her In the theater. He Is VAN ROBARD. but when Llane mentions him her mother makes Llane promise to have nothing more to do with him. Mrs. Cleespaugh asks Cass to let Llane stay with her during the winter. Muriel leaves the theater one evening with CHUCK DESMOND, newspaper man, and Muriel's mother dispatches Varv Robard In search of the couple. He takes Llane along Muriel turn; up next dav, having spent the ; night discreetly at a New York hotel. Elsie tells Llane that* Robard Is known as Mrs. Ladd's lover and the girl is crushed. Llane dines with Desmond and finds him Interesting. Van Robard seems to Ignore Liane. but during a holdup at the theater one night, he shows deep concern about her. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TEN Van, defeated, shrugged himself away. Liane submitted to the physician’s ministrations. “Right, as rain,” was his verdict. "They tell me you were a brave young lady." She smiled at him faintly, scarcely listening. Liane thought, “right as rain except for a great bruise on my heart.” tt a *T\/fOTHER, how about asking Mr. JLVI Walters if I’m to have that Job as & dress model at Hendel’s?” Llane asked. It was the last week of August, the week after Liane’s adventure with the bandits. The local paper had made quite a heroine of her. Clive Cleespaugh, who never had spoken to her before, had stopped shyly to shake her hand. Chuck Desmond had sent her a wire which said simply: “Attababy." But it was all over now and the season itself was drawing to a close. Cass was going on tour with the New Art company. Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, Chicago, and Detroit. Home by the middle of January. “We were lucky to rent the apartment,” Cass reflected, not answering Liane’s question. “Do pay attention to what I’m saying,” wailed the girl. “You say the stage is out and I must have a job.” Cass wrinkled her fine nose in distaste. “I hate to think of turning you into a clothes horse,” she observed in some dissatisfaction. “But it pays $35 a week, and I’d have a chance to do posing for the rotograyure advertisers,” Liane reminded her. “I know', but perhaps something better will turn up,” Cass seemed mysterious. “But mother, I’ve got to work and I’m not trained for an office. What else is there for a girl like me?” , Liane looked very young, very eager and imperative in jsr thin kimpno of dusky red stuff. Her dark hair, bronze in the light, fell loose about her shoulders. She was exquisite, Cass thought, with a sharp sigh. What, indeed, was she to do? True, there was Mrs. Cleespaugh’s offer. She had asked for more time, had Cass, putting off the moment of decision. Now the autocratic old lady wanted her answer. “What does she want of the child?” Cass mused. “And would it mean a definite estrangement? Would she be a sort of companion, a snubbed under-secretary, running with cushions for the lap dog?” “I shall have to decide today," Cass muttered, half to herself. "Decide what, mother?” St tt St ELSIE rose, gathering up her bag, her discarded hat and white golves. “See you at supper,” she said departing. “Decide what?” repeated Liane Impatiently. Cass determined to take the plunge. “Mrs. Cleespaugh wants you to stay with her this winter,” she said tremulously and was surprised at the response the young girl gave. She flushed and smiled. Her soft eyes were lighted charmingly. “You like the prospect?” Cass asked in amazement. She thought

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the old lady something of a Gorgon herself. “It—it might be lun,” Liane faltered. "Oh Mums, not that I shouldn’t mind being away from you! Os course Id hate that. But you said yourself that you’d have to be going on the road and I can’t trail along. This—honestly now—doesn’t it look like a gift from the gods?” Cass had to admit it did. With a heavy heart she said, “It’s settled then? You want me to tell her you’ll come?” “Well, mother,” Llane looked grave, “it seerns a sensible thing to do. I could at least earn my living that way. It’ll be better than the ribbon counter.” Then with a mercurial, change the girl rushed across the room, Infolded the older woman in her arms and cried, in a muffled voice: “Do let me come along with you. Vernon will let me play bits. Maid parts, walk-ons. I'd rather. Why do you so hate the idea of the stage for me?” That passionate outburst settled Cass. “Never,” she said, firmly. “Let’s not talk about It. You’ll go to Mrs. Cleespaugh in September.’’ Liane thought, “I can’t teil her now about Van Robard. It would upset everything.” a u u NOW they were packing, Cass’ big oak trunk, the one which haa traveled with her to all four corners of the continent, stood yawningly open. It spilled tarnished evening dresses, faded scarves, shoes run down at the heel. “All this junk!” moaned Cass, surveying it in disgust. “I must throw some of it away.” She leaned over and fished out a pile of old letters, a battered scrap bocjk with an imitation leather cover. Liane, sorting stockings, stockings, looked up. “Anything interesting there?” she asked. Cass swept the pile aside with a rather pettish gesture. “Nothing you’d care about,” she said. ' Tel-le-phone!” Mrs. Smlthers shrilled at the foot of the stairs. “For Mrs. Barrett ...” Cass caught her printed dressing gown about her and ran. Liane sat there in the hopeless confusion of the room winding ribbons and smoothing out wrinkled finery. Her glance strayed to the pile of papers. Out of the heap idly she selected the book. She sniffed fastidiously at it. The odor of shabbiness and disuse flavored its pages. She flipped them back, reading a clipping here, pausing to stare there at the faded photographs. She was deep in an old newspaper paragraph when Cass returned. The older woman glanced sharply at what Liane was reading, said in a rather nettled tone, “Do give me that old thing. I told you there was nothing to interest you.” “But there is—scads of stuff,” protested Liane. “Why didn’t you ever let me see it before? I’m fascinated.” “Do give it to me, Liane. I’m serious. I want to put it away. It should have been burned ages ago,” cried Cass, strangely impatient at the delay. Liane glanced up, dimpling impishly. “I’m crazy about it,” she cried. “All about what a riot you were in Syracuse stock in 1908.” Cass stamped her foot in Its frayed satin mule. Almost there were tears in her fine eyes. “Give it to me this minute, do you hear?” Liane arose with exaggerated dignity and handed her the book. As she relinquished it a photograph fell to the floor. “You can at least let me see • at you looked like as Juliet,” grumbled the girl, stooping to retrieve it. She gazed curiously at the inscription on the back of the small cardboard. “Luisa Emerson, May, 1909.” “Why, she looks astonishingly like you, mother,” marveled Liane, turning it over and regarding the smiling features. The pose of the pictured girl was consciously dramatic. She wore a swirling pompadour, a rose in the curve of her neck. “She’s lovely,” said Llan,e. “But mother, you never told me you had a sister.” n a tt CASS, ominously silent, received the picture from her hands. “Now that you’re quite through ex-

amining my belongings,’* she said in a voice- furiously low. All this was so unlike her eventempered self that Liane glanced at her, amazed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to. tease." Cass went on. “I never have spoken of Luisa because her death was such a shock to me. To all of use. It’s all too painful.” Liane said pityingly: “Don’t tell me about it, mother. I’m sorry, honestly I am. I didn’t mean to snoop.” “No, no. There's no reason you shouldn’t know,” Cass continued. “She was beautiful and talented. She died of brain fever when she was 21.” “Oh, mother. I am sorry,” mourned Liane. Cass’ eyes were filmed. “I didn’t get over it for months—years, really. I never want to talk about it.” “Is that why you never go back home?” “Partly. Besides, there’s no one back there I want to see.” Cass was putting the picture away now. She was self-possesesd once more. “That was Mrs. Cleespaugh calling,” she said. “She will send the car for you tomorrow morning. It’s all settled and she’s delighted you are coming.” “Whatever made you decide so suddenly?” Liane asked. Cass was tossing papers and clippings into the trunk. She looked around as if in surprise. “Didn't you want me to say you’d come?” Liane drew her brows together thoughtfully. “I didn’t know how I’ll fit in in that grand house.” Cass said, “Don’t be silly. You’ve been brought up properly. You know which fork to use.” \ “I didn’t mean that. Perhaps I’ll feel like a pensioner.” Rebellion swept over her soul. Why need they be so poor, to accept such favors at the hands of strangers? Id rather take bits, walk-ons, anything, and stay with you,” Liane grumbled. “I don’t want to be anybody’s man Friday.” Cass came over and shook her gently by the shoulder. ‘You’re a naughty girl to talk like that. This is a business arrangement, not charity. You know trouping always ruins your digestion and you catch such terrible colds. I won’t have to worry about you this way.” She watched Liane anxiously. “I hate being poor,” flamed the girl bitterly. “I hate all of it, castoff, clothes and patronage and the rest. What wouldn’t Ido to be Independent!” it was more a challenge than a question. Cass paused In the act of sorting shoes. She echoed Liane’s words with a sigh. ‘What wouldn’t I do to be independent? Anything short of murder.” She sat down. She looked weary and old. The girl’s heart smote her. “I’m a beast ” she cried, contritely. “Os course I’ll go. That’ll be one worn off your mind, anyhow.” (To Be Continued) ADVENTURER ON RADIO Jungle Experiences to Be Described by Indianapolis Man. Experiences during three years in South American jungles will be described over WENR, Chicago, at 8:45 p. m., Monday, by William Collins of Indianapolis, interviewed by Cal Johnson during the Outdoor Life program. Johnson is one of the nation’s best known authorities on game, forests and wild life. Collins is a world traveler and a native of Nova Scotia. He has followed the wilderness trail on several continents including India and the Americas. FIND POISONING CURE Wash Infected Parts With Strong Soap, Says Walton League. Bp United Press CHICAGO, July 4.—A cure for ivy poisoning was claimed today by the Isaac Walton League of America. The first thing to be done in the cure is to wash the infected parts with strong soap. Next, apply a 5 per cent solution of ferric chloride which has been added to a 50-50 solution of water and alcohol, said the league.

STICK Jrft 5 ®(D(D °®(§) < @@ @® Two multiplication problems, with the digits 1 to 9. are so arranged above that they bring the same result Can vnu re- 1 arrange the digit* so as to bring a large total, but still multiply m one case three numbers by two and m the other case two numbers by two? Answer for Yesterday J pi pieces of the same size can be formed into a perfect square, only one piece having been cut in two.

TARZAN, LORD OF THE JUNGLE

The trail led toward the cliffs where presently Blake saw the black mouth of a tunnel. Here the Negro halted. He took a torch of twigs dipped in pitch and lighted it with a spark struck from flint and steel. Then he pushed Blake on^again into the tunnel. Toward what?

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKXES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS ANb HER BUDDIES

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Equally strange was the grim prank fate meanwhi. played on Stimbol. Tattered and half-starved, he slunk through the jungle. At last he came to a well-worn trail along which men and animals had passed. Pushing on, he came at last, a day later, to the Menzil of the sheik Ibn Jad.

—By Ahern

Fejjuan, the galla slave, discovered him and took him to the sheik’s beyt where Ibn Jad and Tollog, his brother, with several men were sipping coffee. “By Ullah! What has thou captured now?” demanded the sheik. "Perhaps a holy man,” replied the credulous black, “for he is without weapons.”

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

“Another Christian dog!” said Fahd, spitting. J “A Frenjy, perhaps.” “Perhaps,” said the sheik. ’ “Maybe he is from Pransa. Speak to him in that vile tongue.” The sheik was merely curious. He was incMmd to have Stimbol's throat slit, as the easiest way to get rid of the helpless white matk

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—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin