Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 203, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 January 1932 — Page 13

JAN. 2, 1932_

11,1 I I KINDS of LOVE • BY KAY CLEAVER STRAHAN

BEGIN HEBE TODAY „ ANN, CECILY, and MARY FRANCES FENWicK live with their Rrandoaren'.R. The sisters have been orphaned since •hildhood. The arandoarenta—known a* “ROHALIE" and GRAND’ - —have lona since lost their wealth and the household u suooorted bv Ann's and Cecliv s •arnlnrs. For thi* reason. Ann. 28. and PHILIP ECROYD vour.ir lawyer, still are dosiponlna their marrlaae thouuh they hav , been ensraeed elaht vears. 1 Cecliv 22. Is in love with BARRY MeKEEL an eneineer. but when he proposes she refuses to name the wedding date because she can not leave Ann with the financial responsibility of the home. Marv-Frances. 15. and still In school, strikes up an acquaintance with EAP.L DE ARMOUNT. stock company actor. She meets him secretly on several occasions. t Cecliv arrives home the nieht Barry flß.sk s her to marrv him and confides news to Ann. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CECILY, who had made no efforts at wisdom, found Ann’s admiration disturbing, annoying indeed, rather than gratifying. “Pooh,” she said. “Don’t be engaged for a long time, Cissy,” Ann went on earnestly. “Not for a long time. Things settle down so afterwards. It is ;much more fun and exciting and all to keep things uncertain.” “It isn’t that exactly,” Cecily said. “No. I like certainties much better than uncertainties." * Ann thought for a moment before she conceded, “Women usually do, I suppose—or they think that they do. But men hate ’em, Cissy. Before they are married, I mean.” “If they hated them before they’d hate them after, just the same,” Cecily argued. “Marriage is a ceremony—not a rebirth. I’d surely be ylraid to marry a man I was afraid to be engaged to.” “I didn’t mean afraid,” said Ann. “No, and I don’t think you know what you did mean. Do you think Phil hates the certainty of being Engaged to you?” “Phil’s different. Still, he is getting sort of—difficult. All he’ll talk about, any irore, is when we can be married.” Cecily laughed again. “These men who hate certainties,” she twitted. Ann yawned. No one could be expected to believe it, but Ann, yawning, was still beautiful. “Well, we’d best be getting to bed. Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. Marta called you up this evening during dinner.” “Well, what did she want?” Cecily asked viciously. Marta, at the moment, was intolerable. “I don’t know, I’m sure,” Ann rebuked with dignity. “Marys Frances answered the telephone.” Cecily knew too well MaryFrances’ proclivities, Informative. Her, “Did she tell her who I was out with?” with its italicized pronouns was a long execration, not R question. “It seems to me that she did; but—” “Well, what in heaven’s name did she do that for?” “Well, what in heaven’s name is the matter with you, Cissy, all of a sudden? I suppose the child didn’t realize that it was a secret. I didn’t” Cecily sulked before she answered, “I don’t care to have my affairs bandied about all over town.” “Nonsense! You and Marta have been friends since grammar school. If you don’t trust—” “I’m not talking about my friends, nor -trusting them. I’m talking about my affairs.” tt tt tt ANN, with her hand on the doorknob, paused to be thankful that tomorrow would be Saturday. “I’m not tired,”* Cecily denied. “That is, of anything except gossip.” “Simply because your little sister 1 told your best friend that you were out with Barry, you go off like this, raving about gossip. Are you ashamed of him? “I’d be ashamed of myself. Cissy, * If I were you. You may think, right now, that Barry is all you need, but he isn’t. A man never is. You’ll meed your girl friends as much as ,you ever have. More, in some ways. • Nothing is sillier than to give up your girl friends for a man. You can’t drop girls for months, either, and then when you need them, pick them up again.” r -Who wants to drop them or pick them up again?” “I’m just trying to give you some good advice, that’s all.” Cecily muttered: “Which you never followed.” "What?” Ann asked. “Nothing.**

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“Are you cross with Marta about something? Did Marta ’ “No! I am not!” “You’ll wake everybody up, shouting like that.” “I wasn’t shouting. You’re standing half in and half out of the room.” “Oh, well, Cissy, I’m sorry that you are feeling like this. You’ve been going too much—too much excitement. Grand said this evening that he hadn’t seen you for three days.” “If he’d get out of bed and come down to breakfast he’d see me.” “Yes, I know. And next week you’ll be at home. Grand and Rosalie are old, of course. It doesn’t seem right to fuss and worry them. Still, if you have made a definite engagement with Barry for tomorrow afternoon and evening, I suppose I can manage.” An engagement for tomorrow afternoon? None. For tomorrow evening? None. No more engagements, ever. So that was what Marta had been up to, slinking through the room and gabbling. That the girl had Intended no good, Cecily had been confident from the moment of her entrance. That it would be wiser to ignore her, to refuse to listen to her, Cecily had also known. But now there was no evading, no escaping Marta. Honestly! She came forward in an utterly ravishing chiffon rag that rippled around her ankles and shouted, “Remember ! ” tt tt a MARY-FRANCES, who had been in the kitchen replenishing her bowl with cereal, returned to the dining room, singing loudly, ’Tis love that makes us happy. Tis love that smooths the way.’” She took her place at the table, reached for the cream pitcher, and began again, still not softly, ““Tis love that makes us happy— Ann protested, “Well, MaryFrances, I must say! It’s a good thing Grand and Rosalie aren’t down to listen to you singing at the table.” “And I must say,” retorted MaryFrances, “that Cissy isn’t hurrying very fast.” “Hurrying?” Cecily questioned. “Why should I hurry? It isn’t late.” “Just poking along,” MaryFrances reproached, with a bitter touch, “Just munching. Not hurrying at all.” “Munching!” Cecily repudiated. “I am not. Where did you ever pick up such a word?” “Mincing,” Mary-Frances substituted. “Not hurrying at all.” Ann and Cecily exchanged worried glances. Mary-Frances, of late, was so often—well, at least odd. “But, dear,” Ann said, “why should Cissy hurry? Did you wish her to hurry for some reason?” “No, I don’t care.” Mary-Frances dismissed any suggestion of personal interest by lifting her shoulders and dropping them and humming a little. “If you’ll come into the music room,” Cecily offered, “I’ll play your accompaniment.” “You would,” remarked MaryFrances. Ann said, “Mary-Frances, I want you to stop being so rude. It seems to me you are just trying to be naughty this morning.” Naughty! That was nice, wasn’t it? That was going just a little too far. Naughty—to a person who had memorized, from Rosalie’s padded satin-bound book, “Delicate Love Poems of the Nineteenth Century,” only the night before: ‘“Well, you can, you must set down to me, Love that is Life—Life that is Love. A tenure of breath at your lips decree, a passion to stand as your thoughts approve, a rapture to fall where your foot may be’.” Yes, she knew it by heart. “‘Well, you can, you must “And,” Ann continued, “I won’t have you moving your lips and muttering to yourself like that, Mary-Frances. Why don’t you answer me?” tt tt a "T DIDN'T hear you, did I? I A > was thinking of something. What does t, e, n, u, r, e, mean?” “Tenure? Holding—something to do with real estate,” Ann said. “I’ll ask Phil. He’ll know exactly.” “So would the dictionary” suggested Cecily. “But I think it means—”

"Holding ?’ r interrupted Mary-

Frances. “Could it” intensely, hopefully—“possibly mean holding your breath?” Cecily tossed back her head and laughed. Mary-Frances turned in fury. “Laugh! That’s all, about, that you do any more. Just laugh and laugh. I’ll bet he’s not laughing out there waiting for you by the hour. By the hour. “It’s just heartless. I’d think you’d ask him in, or send him off, or anyway hurry a little. Sitting there in front of the house in his car. It looks funny?” Before Ann had finished saying, “Who is sitting where?” Cecily had slid across the dining room floor, remarking, “Hurrah for the one!” The sun was shining, and the air was sweet, and, as she ran down the front steps from the porch, Barry got out of the car and came to meet her. She thought hazily, “I’ve never been so happy. This feeling is what people mean when they remember the happiest minute of their lives.” “Barry!” she said. “Barry!” and gave him both her hands, and he took them and held them. “Do I look pretty?” he asked anxiously. She stood back and surveyed him. He was wearing a dark suit that she had not seen him wear before; his necktie was just this side of gaudiness; his hair was slicked too much —she loved its frowsiness—his face, especially the short, blunt nose, looked scoured like a little boy’s face that has been washed and polished too vigorously. The darling! He might make a joke of it, but he had, he actually had “dressed up.” “You look grand!” she said. “I tried so hard,” he explained. “But I had to hurry. I thought you might look out of the window any time after 6—l’ve been here since then.” “Dear—dearest! My silly little sister saw you, but she told me just this minute. Why didn’t you come to the door?” “Afraid. Bashful. It was too early to call.” “Why didn’t you honk your horn?” “Any guy that sits in his car and honks his horn at my girl gets a punch in the nose. May I take you to your office? Won’t there be time for a little ride first?” In her room, as she pulled on her hat and searched for her best gloves, she found herself humming that foolish song of Mary-Frances.’ “ ‘ ’Tis love that makes us happy (To Be Continued) PLANS ATLANTIC HOP British War Pilot to Fly Bellanca ‘Pace Maker’ East Over Ocean, By United, Press TRURO, N. S., Jan. 2.—Eric Red-grave-Gummer, an English pilot and war flier now living in British Coumbia, plans to attempt a solo flight across the north Atlantic early in 1932. He plans to start the flight from Cape Breton flying field in a Bellanca “Pace Maker” airplane with a 300-horse power Wright Whirlwind motor. Redgrave-Gummer has communicated his plans to Nova Scotia officials. New Year Brings Heat Wave MELBOURNE, Australia, Jan. 2. Thousands of Australians greeted the New Year by sleeping out of doors, due to the intense heat. Adelaide had a temperature of 80 degrees at midnight, the highest in half a century. Grass fires in western New South Wales destroyed 20,000 sheep.

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TARZAN AT THE EARTH’S CORE

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As favorable winds carried Tarzan's craft up the sunlit sea, the 0-220, following the same route cruised in wide circles upon what its captain now considered his hopeless quest for the missing members of the dirigible’s party. Also, he was beginning to wonder if they could fina u he polar opening and return again to the outer world. Serious problems concerning fuel and oil confronted them if they did not soon start back 1 for civilization.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

COULD ‘‘' T * lT - I WKS

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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If they did not find Tarzan and Jason quickg ly, it looked as though the men of the great dirigible must resign themselves to remaining. Below them but never within sight, the apeman and his party were sailing now—they knew not where —lest upon the bosom of Pellucidar’s uncharted sea. Lajo, head Korsar, stood in the boat's bow, sniffing the air like a hunting dog. A land breeze had sprung up. i “We are in for a stiff blow,” he said to Tarzan. v

—By Ahem

Soon the wind and sea mounted to terrifying proportions and the craft fairly flew before the storm. There was no rain or lightning, just stupendous seas and hurricane wind that threatened to engulf Tarzan and his companions each moment. The Waziri were frankly frightened, for the sea was not their element. The mountain girl and Thoar seemed awed but if they felt fear, they did not show it. Even Tarzan and Jason were convinced the boat could not weather the elements.

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

By some miracle of fate the boat lived through the storm. But when the wind diminished and the seas went down, there were only tumbling waters to be seen. Nowhere was there a sight of land. “How now, Lajo, shall we set our course for Korsar?” asked Tarzan. ‘lt will be difficult,” he answered, “but I know trom which direction the wind usually blows upon the Korsar Az. We can not be far from my city.”. It was at that moment that a cry came fro<h The Red Flower of Zoram. and all eyes turtfed in the direction she- indicated.

PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Blossev

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin