Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 211, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 January 1932 — Page 15

JAN. 12, 1032.

IDREE KINDS of LOVE JH. BY KAY CLEAVER STRAHAN ££&

BEGIN HERE TODAT ANN CECILY. *ilrt MARY FRANCES FENWICK live with their srandosremv Th* sister* hv* ben ornh*ned ainre childhood The erandr>arent— known *s •ROSALIE’ and GRAND’—have lon* line* lost, their wealth and the household is supported bv Ann’s and Cecily's •amines _ For this reason. Ann. 23. and PHIL TP ECROYD. vouna lawver. are still oostponine their marrtaae. thouah they have n*n enaaeed elaht vear*. Cecily 32. la In love with BARRY MeKEEL. an engineer. but when he proposes Rhe refuses to name the weddlntr date because she cannot leave Ann with the financial resnonalhllltv of the 'oroe. Marv-Krances. 15. and still In school. Strikes un an acoualntanee with EARL TIE ARMOUNT. stock company actor, r-he meets him secretly and he .ries to persuade her to become hta partner In a vaudeville act. Phil takes Ann to dinner. A air! has has seen before sends him a note. Phtt’s explanations are vaaue On the wav home Phil stops the car to investigate some cnelne trouble. LFTTY KINO, who wrote the note, and KENNETH SMITH, her escort, come alone *n another car. Lettv addresses Phi! with endearment* and Ann. anerv. pets in Smith’s ear and ask* him to take her home. . , ... Miss Lane, a teacher, reoorts that Marv-Frances is ncKlectlns: her rchool *°.VOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THIRTY AS the door closed, Ann looked up from the ironing, and Cecily turned from £hc shelves. Cecily said. “Goodness, Ann! I did not. know she was going. I’m afraid Ve hurt her feelings. I forgot to listen. We didn’t even tell her we were glad about the Carmichaels, did we?” “She talks too much,” Ann said, but faintly defensive. “I know. But she means to be so much better than she is. So does Grand. They both do.” Ann said. “I think 111 go to see Miss Lane this afternoon.” “1 wish you would. Id go. but Barry is coming early." “Phil thinks Mary-Franccs is boy struck.” “What of it? She’s a normal, healthy girl of 15.” “We weren’t boy struck at 15,” Raid Ann. “We were so worried and so busy. Still, I do remember a little Jewish boy named Milton; and what about a handsome —Carl was his name, wasn’t it, Ann?” “Dear me!” Ann almost smiled. ‘‘l hadn’t thought of him for years. His father was a butcher—l hated that. Cissy, docs it impress you that, Grand and Rosalie have suddenly begun, of late, to talk a lot fibout our being married? “They never used to. Lately they drag it in by the scruff of the neck whenever they talk to us. Or—don’t they?” “They do,” Cecily agreed. “I was thinking of that just now when Rosalie was talking. I decided it w’as for one of two reasons. Either they are trying to find out whether Barry and I are engaged—” “Are you?” “No—not really. Oh, angel, thp way things are now with Barry and me is simply almost too perfect. I—” “Yes. I know, honey. But you said one of two reasons. What is the other reason?” • I don’t know exactly. But I sort of wondered if at last they had waked up a little. Got hold of the fact that we kept things going here and were, perhaps, worried—frightened?” n u a ANN shook her head. “Well? But that couldn’t be it. I’m sure it isn’t. No. They seem to wish us to marry.” “Yes, 1 know. But don’t you see —they would? Seem to. I mean. They’d think just far enough to declare that they wouldn’t stand in the way of our happiness; but they wouldn’t go on and think about what they would do if we went off and left them. “They might feel worried and frightened, but they wouldn’t allow themselves to think it—much less say it. They are that way with everything. Right they are both planning a lifetime ahead of them. They won’t recognize death—they won't so much as nod to it.” Ann sighed. “I don't know' what I’ll tell them about Phil and me. They’ll question so.” “Don’t, tell them one word about it. Phil’s busy—something of that sort. He has been busy a lot lately.” Cecily stopped for a second, tried to take that back, could not, and went on; “They don’t really notice much, ever. Sometimes they just pretend to. Don’t say a word, and before they’ve missed Phil at all he’ll be back again.”

HORIZONTAL"' YESTERDAY’S ANSWER 9 CJhart. 1 The marabou, rrvr l'VTtfl -7 Pluckiest. | ODlf tHM?! PAWAI H Next to first, I3 w h „ r . rl . k£!E SSl|fegiilfe mzrran college SW 15 God ot ft* . took part in ippMpRUPE lower world. Mho first trans- GIE. NIEjViA|B(R I 18 Wine vessel. f Atlantic de- EIATBEiS T ATEISBIHI lIE 24 stv hate hy radio? fIRSOIYt SMRiEISTIUE 25 Handled. 15 To employ CL A SHiiTIE Nl” 25 To elate.. flattery. IslaL fP R'lulMiM'k.'R "lAiCIRIEJ 27 Measuring” 15 Seed similar 111 Pi I I ill Ml I' I HlUlfl sticks, to the tonka i o nisj'r IA MSA G 5 fill PI 29 To nod_ ra§‘r{W' , f r 31 Exclamation. 17 Pieces of slow- aWI Ital iaL->k.,g;.f 34 Tender. ing carbon Atlantic radio 50 Leprous 35 Unkeeled, 1$ Step. debate? person. 36 Made verses. 20 Striped 32 To cut grass. 52 V. 37 Male ancestor* camel's hair 33 To be India- 53 Changed. 38 Film on cloth. posed. 55 Cotton satin. copper ?1 Moolev apple. 34 Farmer. 57 Required. 39 Serfs. 22 To put on. 37 Slumbers. 58 Swamp. 40 Prepared 23 Nick. 40 Opposite of a sheepskin. 25 To chatter. “bull’’in the vertical 42 Aperture, v 27 To be unde* language of lln advance.* 44 Weight allow* elded. the stock 2 Hare. ances. 23 Flat plates of market. 3 Moans. 49 Scarlet, ancient Japa- 41 Finger. >4 Hail! 50 Guided, nese soldiers. 43 Seasoning. 5 Minor note. 51 Battering BO What English 45 Social insect. 8 Part of a machine, college took 46 Blemish. circle. 52 Tree, part in the 47 Sailor. 7 Type of fuel. 54 Second note, first trans- 4S Ado. 8 Dye 56. Toward PPSTTTI i fT“ ST" 3H" ET" TT" f&T" Jj-JJT- 1 srp fen ~ fy* —P !— wrjpri Hr 1 TT “ MWF —" - 5r ■ pi 55 P m _ —J - L—W

“No. No, he won’t. Not ever. We're all through, Phil and I.” “Angel! Isn’t that silly! You’ve had quarrels before.” “Not like this one. And before, I’ve cared so dreadfully, Cissey. I’vs been so crushed—so hurt. Now I’m just sort of light feeling and free. I can’t explain it. “There’s the bell again. You answer it, will you. Cissy? I don't want these napkins to dry out.” “Phil’s changed his mind.” Cecily laughed as she went toward the hall. She was still laughing when she returned to the kitchen, with a big beribboned box from a florists's in her arms. “Hurrah for the one!” she said. “Oh, Ann, what did I tell you? Here, and hence to th<! telephone.” She took the iron from Ann’s hand and pushed the box into her arms. u n n A NN stood still and held the cardboard thing as she might have held a baby. She closed her eyes and bit at her lower lip, trying not to moan with the* surging pain of i-elief. It had been only a mad nightmare. She was loved. Phil loved her. There was no loneliness, no fear. He would be with her soon, and his arms would hold her in strength and safety, and his lips would give her all of life again. Cecily’s voice, still laughing, w'as urging her to open. it. She could laugh now. Laugh forever and always—she and Phil together. She put the box on the table and as her fingers tugged at the bow' she thought that everything could be explained—or forgiven. It was so easy to forgive. Cecil said, “Oh, Ann —the beauties, the beauties! And smell ’em!” Ann, at last, let the air out of her tightened lungs, and it made a queer, suffering sound as she said, “He shouldn't have ” because there were such massen of them, down there in the green, shading from creamy white to deep rose. Water lilies, so rare, so different. And Phil had remembered how she loved them and had got them and sent them to her—all the water lilies in the world. She reached for the card. She hoped that Cecily would not notice how her hands were shaking. She hoped that Phil would not say that he w'as sorry. She u-anted to be the first to say that. He need not have seat a card—the water lilies said all that he’d ever need to say. “For my inspirational girl,” she read.. Below that, neatly engraved, w'ere a few meaningless words: “Mr. Kenneth Homer Smith.” n n tt ANN said, “I came to talk to you! for a few minutes about my little sister, Mary-Frances Fenwick. if you can spare the time, Miss Lane.” Miss Lane, portly, comfortable looking, poised always as a sternly matter-of-fact middle-aged person, answered, “Yes, indeed. Come in, won’t you? I’m so glad you came, Miss Fenwick. So glad.’’ She overdid it because she was not at all glad to have Ann come, and because the tragic look in Ann’s w’hite face and dark eyes reinforced her conviction that parents (relatives in general always came under this classification) were idiots. She feared that this interview' was going to be difficult. She had promised those lovely, sweet old people this morning that, if either Ann or Cecily should talk to her, she would not tell them about the silly and—well, not really nice people she had found written in MaryFrances’ notebook. Copied, she thought, felt sure, hoped and trusted. Not original—surely not! Oh, no—not original! The dear old gentleman had said, "We shall inform Mary Frances’ sisters of her failure to make her customary high grades. That is their due. “Yes. We shall need to tell them so much, to discuss the matter of our little one’s health. Also, they may be able to assist her, from time to time, with her studies. “But of this—more delicate question, we shall say nothing. Nothing. They themselves are young. A bit impetuous—a bit, may I say, censorious. “Youth, as you know', my dear

lady, is a stem disciplinarian. My wife and I Bill deal with this situation. Yes. But with tact. With gentleness. With diplomacy . . B B B SOMEWHERE, in the midst of it, though Miss Lane could not now recall where nor reason why, she had given her promise of secrecy; and here she was in a pretty pickle. A lady, and a professing Christian, neither told lies nor broke promises. It W'as not particularly difficult. Ann was readily satisfied. Only one evasion was necessary; one snowly and small white lie did the trick. Dr. Tureck himself had said this morning that to give needless pain was (not a sin, Dr. Tureck was far too nice to mention sin) a grievous fault. Troubling and worrying further that pretty Ann Fenwick, already, apparently, so deeply troubled and; worried, would surely be worse than telling one little fib. “Promise me now,” Miss Lane ! said to Ann as they stood together under the winding, drooping wisteria on the porch, “not to w'orry about this. Mary-Frances is a nice bright child. She ll come out all l right.” “I’ll not worry,” Ann said. I’ll watch her diet?” “You aren’t looking so very well; yourself,” Miss Lane sympathized, j “I am well, extraordinarily well. Such a beautiful spring this year, isn’t it? I don’t remember such a beautiful spring—ever before. Sunshine. So much sunshine, I mean, and—well, so much sunshine and j brightness and birds and sunshine and all.” Same old story, Miss Lane decided, as she returned to her spick-and-span living room; pretty girls never had a lick of osense; not a ; lick. Ann Fenwick, she supposed,/af- , fected that tragic air. Well, it was * a blessing that Mary-Frances had those wise, charming old people to guide her. (To Re Continued) SHOOTING COSTS COP Superior Court Jury Awards $2,250 to Man Wounded by Eller. Damages of $2,250 were awarded Jacob E. Row'e, 3758 West Tenth street, Monday by a superior court four jury against Horace (Hod) Eller, Indianapolis policeman, as a result of a shooting in April, 1930. Rowe alleged he was shot by Eller. although he was not committing a felony and w'as not under arrest. Eller contended Rowe was annoying two girls and fled w'hen commanded to halt. The shooting occurred at King avenue and Eleventh street. OWL BUSSES APPROVED Plan to Abandon Late Street Car Service Wins City’s O. K. Permission to run busses on city : streets under the Indianapolis Street Railway Company proposal j to replace owl street cars, was | granted Monday by the w r orks i board. The company’s proposal, em- j bracing the replacement over four- j teen lines in the city, now awaits j approval of the public service com- 1 mission. Street railway officials : assert that SIO,OOO can be saved annually by the replacement.

STICKERS P • • • ••j • f • • • • • • '• • • • .•• • ••M • • • T* • ••O • • • • • •• • • • • • * • • R • • Can you complete the above word diamond by filling m the dots with the correct letters:* Each horizontal and vertical row m each diamond should form a word, and the long horizontal and vertical lines should form ' 3-letter words. __ 2j

Answer for Yesterday

Q+2+B+3-7 -4-6-s+l -O = I f Above show? 0 to 9 can be arranged so that the total is raw. t?

TARZAN THE TERRIBLE

Across the thick carpet of broken twigs, branches and leaves on the jungle floor. Numa, the grim stalker, his prey. Your ears could not have caught the slightest sound of the lion's movement. Yet the keen sense of the lone-man-thing told him that some danger lurked nearby. Often he turned his sharp, black eyes intently toward the dismal shadows. Now b* unloosed his knife and quickened his speed through the dense vegetation.

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

■ 9 1<31- Eilgif Bet Ut AT rtgbt*

Soon he came to an almost treeless area of considerable extent. Here he paused as if unwilling to leave the security of the great tree branches above him. But some need must have urged him onward for after a moment of hesitation, he moved across the little plain. And Numa, watching from the concealing cover of the jungle, now seeing his quarry apparently helpless, crept forth into the moonlight, raised his tail stiffly erect—and charged.

—By Ahern

Bl 'j? JUST A MIWUT6... J : AL-RISUT... I gp ~ v> JUST A MIMUTE.-.l’U. in ERE S A*y / S THIS jgf, / A O'Oe TEM MtvJuTES J I L. <2 TSJ CEVTS....AM' ) /' C ume J

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Into this same remote corner of the dark continent after two long, weary manths of hardships, had come Tarzan of the Apes. Returning to his African estates, the ape-man found to his dismay that a bitter tribal war had almost reclaimed his once fertile fields. Most cruel blow of all, he could only guess what fate had the beautiful, gracious Lady Jae. Only a /flight, single clew led him to hope that she still was alive.

OUT OUR WAY

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r jSlHP** HAW - r jllSlill? OAT j ‘y-

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

■TaV hr ; sag ■My Jmfe&uiL. 'l' f fIH

Starting out alone in search of the one he loved, Tarzan succeeded in locating the village where for a while she had been captive. Here in the cannibals’ country, bits of evidence convinced the ape-man that whoever held his beloved prisoner must have fled toward the Congo regions. Hunger, thirst and disappointment were his only reward for many weeks. But. grim-jawed with determination, Tarzan pressed forward until he had left far behind him an! familiar scenes. Neither man nor beast had he met since the last full moon.

PAGE 15

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

■—By Small

—By Martin