Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 232, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 February 1932 — Page 21

FEB. 5, 1032.

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BEGIN HERE TODAY B*%aiful ELLEN R aSS I TER. who work* by dv *s • f.le*Klrl In Barclay * department store, lives with her mother, WOIiaY ROSBITER her elder slater. MYRA, and her 13-year-old brotb/r. E ten's dead father, a younger son In a titled Enslish family. left a comfortable fortune to provide for hi* wife and children, but Molly soon went through the fortune. Since then the support of the household has devolved upon the two sisters. Their problem is complicated by Molly’s heedless extravagance. Mnllv spend the precious rent money to buy unnecessary clothes lor Mike. At her mother's suggestion. Ellen decided to work at night as a dance hall hostess until the sum Is made up She and Mrra leave the house together lor the day s work. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORT CHAPTER TWO DURING the long hot morning at Barclay’s department store, Myra's words lingered with Ellen. Myra had said that the Rossiter family always would be just one Jump ahead of the poorhouse. Myra had said that the Rossiter girls never would find men financially able to marry them. With a pang In her heart Ellen thought of Myra, engaged for nine years to Bert, worn out with ceaseless waiting for the opportunity, the break that never came. She thought of little Mike. In tun age of specialization, Mike must have his chance. But how was that chance to come? How was Mike to go to college as other boys did? How was Mike to get an education? All the Rossiters desired ease nd beauty and luxury in life. All of them deserved those things. As she mechanically cut lengths of 19-rent outing flannel for women who for some inscrutable reason wanted outing flannel in midsummer, the girl's mind returned continually to that morning conversation. Were the Rossiters fooling themselves? Were they indeed all lost in worse than medocrity? Did the past glories of a family count for nothing when the present of that family was poverty? "What’s eating you?” Jenny Elkins, her counter mate, asked once. “Nothing,” Ellen replied—spiritlessly. But she felt weary and discouraged. Her head ached from the heat and from the ceaseless complaints of shoppers who desired more for their money than their money would buy. “Like us,” thought Ellen bitterly. With noon and the lunch hour ahe cheered. As she combed her hair and powdered her damp face dry, she observed that she had a great deal of company. The dressing room was full of salesgirls, less well off than herself, many of them fading, past the age of romance and past the possibility of attaining happier futures. Ellen was young. She had undeniable good looks and distinction. Just around the corner who knew what might be in store? She swung out into the street. Fifth avenue was jaded and wilting in the August sunshine. Even the shop windows seemed dusty and the merchandise, usually so enticing. was dimmed by the blazing noon light. an n BUT Ellen felt the customary lift of spirit as she left the store. She was almost eager now for the coming adventure. After all, she never had been inside Dreamland. There was no reason why it might not be fun. There would be youth there at least. It was better to dance than to sit evening after evening in a stuffy apartment wondering how two small salaries were to be stretched to feed and clothe three adults and one active boy. That feeling of suppressed excitement was still with her when she reached the dancehall a few steps off Broadway and plunged into the graceful dusk of the building. It left her abruptly when, at the second floor, she left the elevator and stepped into Dreamland. The big, over-decorated room, even with all the shades drawn, appeared cheap and tawdry. The paper roses that shaded the lights were not only imitation—they were dirty. The floor, not yet swept, w’as jnussy with confetti remaining from the night before. Nor did the peeling gilt chairs and tables arranged around the walls present a setting for romance. Or the glass ticket booth near the door like the ticket booths of motion picture houses. As though romance w’ere for sale! Ellen squared her jaw, assured

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herself that she had not come for ! romance, and walked toward the door marked “Office—Jacob Salomon, Manager.” She was a little surprised that there were no other girls waiting and a little cast down as well. That probably was a clear indication that Dreamland jobs were not too profitable. She knocked at the frosted glass door. A querulous voice bade her enter. Jacob Salomon did not rise when she came in. He was wearing a hat. He did not remove his hat. Nor did he remove the cigar in his mouth when he inquired her business. Ellen told him. “D'ja ever dance professionally?” “No, I haven’t. But I’m a very good dancer,” replied Ellen in a voice as brusque as his own. She had no intention of being intimidated by Jacob Salomon. He leaned across his untidy desk, wound up a portable victrola, put on a record and stood up. “I’ll try you out,” he said. Ellen looked startled. But evidently Salomon expected her to dance with him. He was holding out his arms. She never before had danced with a man in his shirt sleeves, a man wearing a hat and smoking a cigar. But she stepped firmly forward. a a o ELLEN was a light and graceful dancer. She was surprised to Find that Salomon, for all his bulk, danced better than any partner she had ever had before. After two turns of the room he released her, mopped his forehead and flopped into his swivel chair again. “You're o. k.,” he announced. “Turn up with your evening dress at 8 o’clock tonight. You’re allowed Mondays off if you want ’em. Take any other night off. without explaining in advance, and you’re fired. That's all.” Ellen smiled faintly. “I’m afraid it isn’t all,”* she observed unruffled. “I have to be satisfied with the job, too. What is the salary?” “No salary. Commissions. The boys pay 10 cents a dance straight dancing. You can pick up more giving private lessons. You get half the takings. You split your tips, too—if any.” He squinted his eyes and regarded her with the cold glance of a surgeon or a musical comedy director. “You’re good-looking,” he admitted, as if he had just noticed it. “You got class, too. I guess you’ll knock the spots off any of the hostesses we have now. “You ought to make $3 or $4 an evening easy—s 6 or $7 on Saturdays. Easier than clerking in a store. That what you do now?” Ellen was considerably taken aback. Color rose in her cheeks, but her voice was cool as she admitted that she did clerk in a store and meant to continue to do so. Salomon indifferently assured her that such a course was an easy way to quick suicide, but he did not appear to be really interested. “Another thing,” Ellen said as she prepared to leave. “I haven’t any real evening dress. Only semi-eve-ning dresses.” Salomon’s feet, which had been chocked upon the desk, came down on the floor. “Won’t do,” he said. “I might as well tell you that the evening clothes are the catch. They wear out fast here. And you gotta have ’em. “This is a classy place. Part of our advertising is “Every beautiful hostess in the latest from Paris.’ ” “But I—” “Won’t do. We’re in this biz for money—not for our health.” He added speculatively, his eyes curious, “No reason why a Jane as good-looking as you are shouldn’t have all the evening duds in the world. No reason for that matter why you should be clerking in a store or working here either.” tt V AS Ellen, angry and discouraged, went out the door, he called after her, “The job's always open if you manage to scare up the dress.” Late that afternoon, Ellen, bitterly disappointed at losing the S2O or $25 a week, telephoned to the Brooklyn apartment house. There was a long wait while goodnatured Mrs. Clancy climbed the stairs to bring Molly to the phone.

But the wait was easier than the explanation. Molly Rossiter made it very hard. She could not understand why Ellen had not persuaded Salomon to take her without the evening dress. She never understood such things. To top this off, she explained tearfully that the landlord had called during the morning for his rent. “What wifi, we do?” she wailed. Ellen had no better idea of that than Molly. But she poured forth reassurances before she hung up the receiver and turned away. She gave way a little then. There were tears in her wide, thicklashed eyes and her face, ordinarily so rosy, was pale with fatigue and anxiety. She brushed past a handsome, middle-aged man, who had been waiting at the row of telephones on the fifth floor of Barclay’s. She did not notice him until he touched her on the arm. She turned to face Steven Barclay, owner of the department store. “You’re employed here, aren’t you?” he asked. Ellen’s heart gave a great thump. It was against the rules to telephone during business hours. It was also against the rules to leave one's corner. Her counter, tended by another girl, was six floors below in the basement. “I am employed here,” she said in a strained, low voice. “Will you step into my office, please?” Ellen clamped her teeth into her lower lip. As she silently followed him she called forth all her reserve to meet this final calamity. So she was to lose her job at Barclay’s! CHAPTER THREE LLEN had her feet planted firmly in her small world by the time she had seated herself. She had seen other girls pay the swift penalty for some inconsequential fault. She was prepared to pay it herself in dignity and in pride. She thought dimly that the important thing was to maintain her o\vn courage. Never before had she exchanged a word with her employer. In her six years of service she had seen him no more than half a dozen times. Steven Barclay spent only two or three months a year in the store which bore his name; the other months he wandered restlessly about Europe, adding to his collection of jades. But Ellen had assumed, as her working mates had assumed, that he was responsible for the strictness of the store, the countless, fretting rules, the rigid discipline. She had youthfully hated him for that. Barclay left her sitting at the rosewood desk, long and flanked with thin slender vases of roses, while he turned to close the door opening into his secretary’s office. Ellen’s heart took another downward dip. Her hands, folded in her lap, ached from their tight grip upon each other. When Barclay sat down opposite her she raised her frightened eyes. She had been too frightened before, too appalled, to attempt to draw any hope of a porsible second chance from Steven Barclay’s face or manner. But now, as she looked at him, she saw all at once that she had been wrong. This man did not intend to dismiss her. He leaned forward, his fine, lined face grave with sympathy. “I hope.” he began almost apologetically, “that you won’t think I’m interfering in something which does not concern me. I am, of course. “But perhaps you’ll forgive me when I tell you that I can not bear to see an employe—to see someone so young as you are—in such trouble without attempting to learn if there is something I can do. Some way that I can help.” (To Be Continued)

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TARZAN THE TERRIBLE

• I*3l. by Edgar Rjc Burroughs, lae. AS rifbtt

Though her heart beat rapidly, the pithecanthropus maiden did not outwardly betray fear before her threatening chief. “You might have been first and most favored in my cave,” snarled Es-sat, “but now you shall be last and least, and when I am done with you, you shall become an outcast. Thus for those who spurn the love of their chief!” Saying which, he advanced quickly to seize her.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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As he laid a rough hand upon her, Pan-at-lee struck him heavily with her golden breastplates. Without a sound. Es-sat, the chief, sank to the floor. A moment she bent over him, her improvised weapon raised to strike again if he showed signs of consciousness. She stooped and removed his knife with its scabbord and shoulder belt. Slipping it over her own shoulders she quickly adjusted her jhreastplates, and keeping a watchful glance upon the fallen chief* backed from the room.

—By Ahern

From a niche where were neatly piled a number of pegs twenty inches long, Pan-at-lee selected five. She made them into a little bundle which she picked up with the lower extremity of her sinuous tail. Thus carrying them, she stepped to the caves outer balcony. Assuring herself there was none to see or hinder her, she took quickly to the pegs already set in the cliff’s face. With monkeylike celerity she*plambered swiftly aloft to the highest row of pegs.

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

And as Pan-at-lee fled the cave of her ancestors and Tarzan listened to the hairless pithecanthropus’ daring plan to enter A-lur, City of Light, a hundred miles away, a lithe figure, naked but for a loin cloth and weapons, moved silently across a thorn-covered, waterless steppe. With keen eyes and sensitive nostrils he constantly searched the ground before him, tirelessly tracking a faint and rapidly < ‘sappmring spoor.

PAGE 21

—By Williams

—By Blossei

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin