Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 48, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 July 1931 — Page 7

(TOLY 6, M3l.

flea rtf Liam Jt / MABEL MCELLIOTT /

BEGIN HEBE TODAY LIAJTE BARRETT. 18 And beautiful, lives In a cramped New York apartment with her mother, CASS BARRETT, a rather faded actress. On a hot night Liane goes to dinner with MOLLY CRONIN, a neighbor, and two of Molly’s fcien friends. There 1a a shooting and the girl 1* paid 'as a witness. She sends a note to her mother who arrives and persuades SHANE M'DERMID. the young policeman in charge, that Liane Is Innocent of wrongdoing. That night at the theater where Cass is playing, Liane encounters a handsome stranger who •peaks her name. A few days later Cass and Liane go to Wllliow Stream, L 1., where Cass baa an engagemant In a small summer theater sponsored by wealthy MRS. CLEESPAuGH, a widow with one son. CLIVE. Liane works In the box office, Sharing duties with MURIEL LADD, pretty society girl. At Muriel’s home Liane again meet* the handsome stranger who spoke to her in the theater. lie is VAN ROBARD. hut when Liane mentions him her mother makes Liane promise to have nothing to do with him. Mrs. Cleespaugh asks Cass to let Liane stay with her during the winter. Murle lLadd goes dancing one night with CHUCK DESMOND, debonair newspaper man, and her mother dispatches vsn Robard In search of them, believing they have eloped. He takes Liane with him. EUle tells her later that Van Is said to be Mrs. Ladd's lover and the girl la crushed. Liane dines with Desmond and finds him Interesting. Liane thlnka van does not care for ner, but during a holdup at the theater one night he •now* great concern for her. It is decided that Liane will spend the winter with Mrs. Cleespaugh. Cass packs to return to the city at the end of the season and Liane, helping her. comes across an old picture of Cass' sister, LUISA. Cass says Luisa and refuses to say more about NOW ao ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER ELEVEN THE room was long and low-cell-in ged and it seemed to Liane to be packed with ugly, comfortable mahogany furniture of the Victorian age. Mrs. Cleespaugh’s hlg old house proved to be a curious dwelling. “Mother’s dining room Is pure Borgia,” Clive told her that first <lay, with affectionate amusement In his voice. Liane had had to agree. The great, black, worm-eaten oak table with its huge poly-chromed candlesticks and the dark, red velvet curtains looped back from the windows, seemed out of place so near to the hall with its Chinese lacquers and gold tea box paper on the walls. Strange, strange house! Vet Liane rather liked it. It was ugly and rich and comfortable. Her own room pleased her. The great bed had a priceless lace coverlet over rose satin. There was a puffy rose-colored down comforter. Not at all the sort of thing the young girl would have chosen, but luxurious in a heavy sort of way. “I’ir. dreaming," she said, sitting up and blinking as she regarded the breakfast tray which Nora, one of the deft, well-trained maids, had set down on the inlaid table. Mrs Cleespaugh had five maids, all Irish girls. The breakfast tray was very modern, set with thin, sprigged china dishes in. pink and white. The covered dish held golden toast. The fat little pink jar had honey In it. The tail, crystal glass was tilled with orange juice. The bulbous pot poured out a thin, amber stream of inviting coffee. “Luxury!” sighed the young girl, throwing her cheap challis dressing gown over her shoulders and slipping her narrow feet Into wellWorn brocaded mules. She dashed to the bathroom, Where she splashed and showered, returning quickly to that alluring morning repast. Nora had drawn the shades, shutting out the insistent September sun. Liane thought with a pang, “How mother would have loved this!” The thought made the delicious food almost, bitter for an instant. Then •lie remembered, “It’s what she wanted me to do.” Just the same, Liane felt a little guilty. Her mother, who was tired and not strong, was starting out on that dreary business of touring. Not one night stands of course. Better than that. But Liane knew well the sort of dim, tawdry apartments and furnished rooms her mother would be able to afford in the various cities to which she would go with the New Art crowd. "Nothing like this.” thought the young girl, regretfully. mam THEN, being young, she forgot that guilty feeling and proceeded to enjoy herself wholly. Mrs. Cleespaugh had said autocratically, “I never come down to breakfast. Never appear before il, in fact. Perhaps you’d like to have • tray in your room?” Liane had agreed that that would toe delightful. Demure she had

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been. Quiet and tractable as became the young companion of an aristrocratlc old lady. “I’m going to be happy here,” Liane decided suddenly with one of those rare flashes of prescience which come occasionally to all of us. Why she believed that she couldn’t have said. Nevertheless, she did. She got into her old, crisp white linen presently. Her dark hair was damp from the shower. It curled and shaped itself delightfully under her skillful fingers. “Poor girls are the ones who should be bom with a natural wave,” Liane reflected, thankful this was so in her case. “It’s only the rich ones who can afford a hairdresser once a week.”

She went down into the study, where she began her morning task of straightening out the accounts, sorting mail, slitting the envelopes which she knew contained bills. Her convent training stood her in good stead. She had been taught to be neat, methodical, orderly. She was clever at figures and she wrote a clear, feminine script. “Honestly, there isn’t enough to keep any one really busy," the girl thought as her slim fingers worked busily, surely, among the papers on the old walnut desk. She was puzzled at Mrs. Cleespaugh’s desire to have her there. “It’s probably more because she’s lonely than for any other reason,” she decided. Their afternoons were given over mostly to driving. If her employer was very tired, Liane read to her In the late afternoon. If there were visitors Liane poured tea. Sometimes she worked in the rose garden, snipping leaves, spraying the bushes with a villainous mixture. In the morning, too, she was expected to replace the blooms in the drawing room and study with fresh ones. This was a joy, not work, really. Yes, she was happy here. • a u AND yet there was a restlessness under Liane’s quiet contentment. She had the feeling she was waiting, watching for something to happen. “Hello,” said a quiet voice. She looked up. Clive, the son of the house, dripping in his tennis flannels, stepped through the French window that opened on the terrace. “Hot!” he said, sighing and wiping his forehead. “Isn’t It?” agreed Liane. She looked up at him smiling and thinking she never had seen the tall, shy young man look so well before. He held a white sweater on his arm. His fair hair fell In a damp, curling forelock over his forehead. “Heard from Elsie?” he wanted to know. Liane frowned. “I had a letterlet’s see?—on Monday from Boston,” she said. “From mother. She said Elsie threatened to write me soon. They’ve been gone just a week,” she reminded him. “Yes, I know.” His tone sounded careless, but as he went on, with a smile and a nod for her, she couldn’t help wondering. How deep had his flirtation with Elsie gone? The actress was beautiful In a lush, ripe way. “She’s the sort," Liane thought artlessly, “that men must go simply mad about.” This particular young man seemed so shy, so reticent, one couldn’t guess how seriously his feelings were involved. “He’s nice,” she decided. Yes, that was exactly the word for Clive. Not exciting probably, but good, dependable. She hoped, quite gravely, that Elsie hadn’t trifled with his young affections. Elsie had a way of doing such things. Mrs. Cleespaugh rustled in on the stroke of 11. Her white hair was piled high. She was majestic in lilac-colored swiss, her lorgnette dangling from a thin platinum chain. “Good child, to get through all that stack,” she approved, flicking the pile of checks and sitting down to sign them. “I thought we’d drive to Easthampton for luncheon. It’s sticky, isn’t It? Has my son put in an appearance yet?” Liane told her Clive had gone up to change. “Ah, then perhaps he’ll join us,” said the old lady in a tone of quiet satisfaction. “By the way, my dear, I haven’t given you your salary check yet. I think it would be better, perhaps, if I arranged to make that a weekly matter.” “Salary?” Liane stammered. "But

I tboughk-Mofcher understood my living was enough.* "Nonsense!” said Mrs, Cleespaugh disdainfully. "You’re being a most efficient secretary. Certainly you’re to have a salary how does S3O a week seem to you?” “It seems magnificent!" faltered the young girl, almost overcome. Why with that she could do magic things! She could save, put by a nest egg for her mother. She could buy herself new gloves. And her shoes were shabby. Perhaps—she flushed painfully at the thought—perhaps Mrs. Cleespaugh had noticed tha^fapt. • mm 'T'HE old lady was observing her shrewdly. “You’re earning it, my dear, I assure you,” she said with satisfaction. "No qualms are necessary.” Mrs. Cleespaugh touched a bell rope. When the fresh-faced Irish girl in her apple green uniform and crisp, ruffly apron appeared, the woman said, “Tell Mr. Clive I wish to see him when Tie is ready.” “He’s out by the stables, Ma’am," the rosy girl reported in a few moments. “Wan of the mares has a distemper, and Mr. Clive says he don’t know will he be able to come for a bit, he’s that busy.” Mrs. Cleespaugh rapped her eyeglasses sharply on the gleaming desk. “Tell him I said to come at once. It’s frightfully important.” Liane was disturbed. She never had seen the old lady in this mood. Perhaps this manner of his mother’s explained the young man’s sudden shyness, his hesitations and withdrawals. Liane sat quiet hardly daring to lift her eyes. “Want to see me, mother?” The girl looked up to see Clive, still in his damp and crumpled tennis things, standing in the doorway. “I certainly did. I want you to dress and lunch with us. We haven’t a minute to spare. Leave the animal to Kelly and hurry.” The old lady’s voice was imperative. Clive said, unperturbed, “So that was it! Sorry, lam not lunching with you today.” He turned on his heel. His jaw had taken on a hard line. His voice crackled, “Clive, did you hear me?" He wheeled and now Liane saw from behind her veiled lashes that his blue eyes were blazing. “I heard and I’m going," he rapped out. “No scenes, please I’m a bit weary of them.” He was gone. “Bravo! ” Liane applauded him in her heart. Yet she felt sorry for the old woman, who sat, staring at the closed door. (To Be Continued) HASKELL HEAD NAMED West Virginia U. Man Appointed in Indian School Post. By United Press LAWRENCE, Kan., July s.—Robert D. Baldwin of the University of West Virginia has been appointed superintendent of Haskell Indian institute, it was learned today. The new superintendent is a graduate of Princeton and has studied at Columbia, Leland Stanford and Cornell universities. He succeeds R. B. Peairs, who will retire July 31, after holding the position for forty-one years. OCEAN FLIGHT DELAYED Unfavorable Weather Causes Another Postponement for Pair. By United Press NEW YORK, July 6.—Unfavorable weather caused another delay today in the proposed flight to Budapest by Captain George Endres and Captain Alexander Magyar in the “Justice for Hungary." The fliers arose early, went to Roosevelt field, prepared to take off and then shortly went back to bed with the announcement the flight would start Tuesday.

STKKtP.S

Arrange 12 counters, six of one color | marked A, C, E, G, I and K, and six of p another color, marked B, D, F, H, J and J L in the manner shown above. Then ■ the pbzzle is to get them in alphabetical j order in the manner of A, B, C and D on i the top line, E, F, G and H on the middle 1 line and 1, J, K and L on the bottom line. | The moves are made by exchanging op-j t posite colors, connected by the various ') lines. Can you work the problem in 17 *‘ exchanges?' 6

Answer for Saturday

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TARZAN, LORD OF THE JUNGLE

Fahd, once having served with the Algerian forces, spoke some French and addressed Stimbol in that language. “Who are you, stranger?” he demanded. Stimhol, relieved to have discovered a means "of communication, told Fahd he was an Immensely rich American, promising to pay bIS well if hi• life wai spared.

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

When Fahd reported this to the sheik, Ibn Jad saw a chance for a large ransom and ordered Fahd to take the man into his own beyt and assume responsibility for him. Thus StimboFfound himself joined to the roving band of desert men who were slowly drawing closer to the fabled Leonard -filer of m*w>wv

—By Ahern

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As they marched, Zeyd found opportunity to advance his suit for the hand of Ateja, the daughter of the sheik. And Tollog, her uncle, sought to advance the claims of Fahd in the eyes of the sheik. But Fahd was not satisfied with his progress. He schemed constantly to rid himself of his rival. At last he hit upon H plan, _

OUT OUR WAY

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X MOUTh! TOC! PCP.GOT TOOK. ,

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Nightly he noticed that Zeyd absented himself from the gatherings in the tent of Ibn Jad, and that Zeyd and Ateja were meeting. So one night Fahd hid near Zeyd’s tent. When the youth left, Fahd crept in and seized his rival’s mustet, then stealthily crept through camp to wnere Zeyd awaited the coming of —

PAGE 7

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin.