Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 234, Indianapolis, Marion County, 8 February 1932 — Page 11

FEB. 8, 1932.

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BEGIN HERE TODAY IVautlful ELLEN ROJSBITER, who works by day as a salesgirl In Barclay’s department store, lives with her mother, MOLLY ROSSITfeR. her elder sister. MYRA, and her 12-year-old brother, MIKE Irresponsible Molly long since spent Ihe tortune lelt by her English husband and the two girls support the family. Mailv foolishly spends money saved to pav the rent. Ellen decides to work at night as a dance hall hostess until the aum is made up. She goes to Drramland snd Interviews JACOB SALOMON, who offers her a Job on condition that she supply her own evening dresses. She has no evening dress. , , Back at the store again. Ellen begins to crv In her bitter disappointment. STEVtN BARCLAY, owner of the store, sees her and ask3 her to come to his office. . . When she tells him of her problems, he offers to give her a dress, but she refuses to accept It. He then offers to lend her one of the dresses worn by the models. Bhe borrows a lovely white taffeta frock. . .... . Ellen Is half-pleased, half-frightened • by Barclay’s obvious Interest In her. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER FOUR (Continued) But he knew now, as Ellen shyly smiled at him, that he felt that same light restlessness that he thought had left him years ago. And that was impossible. He was 57. Ellen was young enough to be his daughter. Almost roughly he leaned forward and gave the driver directions for reaching Dreamland. When he offered Ellen a clgaret and pulled out the lighter for her, no one would have guessed that he imagined he had, in the brief‘space of seconds, put away from him a small, vague dream. “I don’t smoke,” Ellen told him. His brows went up quizzically. "I thought all young girls smoked hou/adays.” ‘‘Not all of them. I’m not well off enough to smoke.” At his look of surprise, she explained. ‘‘You see, the people we live among and, for that matter, my family, too, are so poor that we must be respectable. “On any debatable point—like smoking for women—we’re all ultraconservative. Not,” she added still In that light strain, “that I lie awake nights longing to smoke. I don’t like it, really. If I did, I’d smoke.” "I’m sure you would. But I’m rather glad you don’t. I can’t get used ” man HE broke off abruptly and thought that there was no use appearing in her eyes as an old fogy even if he were old enough to be her father. With Ellen’s permission, they drove through Central Park before going to the dance hall. Central park in the languid twilight was relaxed and quiet after the fierce heat of the day. On the bridle paths there were a few horseback riders, their habits crumpled, their horses at an apathetic trot. But neither the horses nor the riders appeared to be enjoying themselves. The benches were crowded with workers who had stopped on their hurried way home to draw what solace they could from the dusty green of the park. The air was shrill with the confusion of childish shouts. Scores of children ran up and down the footpaths and scattered about the lake, sending out small boats on the placid surface. Darkness drew in and lights began to pierce windows of the giant apartment houses overlooking the park. A light breeze sprang yp. One by one the benches were emptied. The last toy boat capsized on the lake. *The last cross and sleepy child was dragged away to supper. The park grew quiet. The limousine swished to a stop at the Casino, where early diners, men and women in evening clothes, leaned across softly lighted tables talking and laughing. Ellen and her escort went inside for iced drinks. Neither of them was hungry. nan ELLEN looked around with wideeyed pleasure at the other diners, successful men and lovely, well-dressed women. As her eyes returned to the handsome man opposite her, she began to feel a singing in her heart. What fun to be so rich! What fun to be driven in a limousine wherever you wanted to go! What fun to stop at a smart restaurant because you were thirsty, to be served by an impressed headwaiter, to have every wish anticipated. Care and worries drifted away from her. The hurried, clattery morning with its clashing of milk cans and jangling alarm clocks seemed years away. Here there was

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only peace and beauty and leisure. She began, did Ellen, to weave those swift dreams of girlhood, those dreams that need so little substance. Although Steven Barclay did not guess it. his own shadowy figure moved through those fancies. They drove almost quietly to Dreamland, absorbed in their separate thoughts. They stopped off Broadway. Ellen carefully picked up the box which held the precious dress and stretched out her hand to Barclay. "I can’t tell you,” she said breathlessly, "how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me.” a a a ABOVE them, through the open windows, came a clashing of brasses and a singing of strings. The orchestra at Dreamland was tuning up. "I’m glad I could do it,” Barclay replied. He meant to stop there. But he heard himself saying what he had not intended to say. "I would like to do a great deal more for you.” Ellen’s heart throbbed queerly, but her voice was steady as she told him that he had done a great deal too much already. She was self-conscious, a rare thing for her, as she climbed the stairs—self-conscidhs, and, now that she was away from Barclay and what he stood for, a little dissatisfied with herself. How foolish to imagine that the fact Steven Barclay had lent her a dress meant anything except that he was a kind and generous man. What did she know of him after all? He was rich and she had idly dreamed of becoming his young and adored wife, dreamed of the beauty that as Mrs. Steven Barclay she could bring into the lives of Myra and Molly and baby Mike. Dreamed, too, of herself in thin, gay frocks, never chosen for utility, moving in the pleasure spots of the world with never a thought of work or core. She stepped into Dreamland and ran straight into Jacob Salomon. His face broke into a wide grin. "Hullo—you’re back And with the dress, too, I see. Quick work, kid.” Ellen’s chin came up. “I might as well tell you,” she said coolly, "that I intend to work here only temporarily. For three weeks, at the most.” "That’s o. k. by me, kid. But since you’re here, I suppose you won’t mind obeying the rules like the other girls. Or will you?” "I won’t,” Ellen replied, ignoring his heavy-handed sarcasm. " “Guess this in the only one \ didn't tell you about.” a a a HE pointed to a sign on the bright pink plaster wall. Ellen read that the hostesses were permitted no conversation while dancing except "yes” or “no” in answer to questions. She turned her amazed face to Salomon. "Does look funny,” he conceded, still grinning. “But there’s good sound business back of it. The hostesses can talk when they’re sitting at the tables with their partners. “And when they’re sitting, they order things to eat, if the gents will stand for it. They mostly will.” “Oh,” said Ellen blankly. "Our specialty’s chop suey,” he continued imperturbably. “Price $1 —75 cents to me, 25 cents to the hostess. Thirty-five if the chop suey isn’t eaten, but that means you can’t mess in it with your fork, It has to be good enough to serve again.” Ellen giggled. "The joint’s straight,” he assured her seriously. “We don’t serve liquor. We don't even admit men that have been drinking—much.” She was a little perturbed by his cheerful outspokenness, but she meekly allowed him to pilot her to a cramped dressing room and to introduce her haphazardly to the other girls, some fifteen in number. He used no last names. The girls were Alice and Dolly and Sunny and Anne and Mazie to him. Ellen assumed they were to be that to her. Salomon had not knocked, but nobody appeared to surprised. A few of the girls reached for kimonos with mechanical squeals of dismay, but most of them serenely continued their toilets.

One hard little youngster, whom Salomon called Tony, deliberately pulled her one-piece dress over her head and stood in brief shorts and a soiled satin uplift, grinning at then. A brightly painted screen, gaudy with peacocks and pagodas, concealed a washstand in one comer of the small, hot room. Ellen went behind it to dress. The quarters were cramped and stifling, but she did not mean to risk another Salomon’s unconventional entries. When she emerged, only two hostesses were left in the room— Tony and a languishing blond called Anise. They shared a wicker bench, where they had sat smoking and waiting to have a first-hand look at the new hostess. Ellen looked toward Tony—and met a pair of coolly hostile eyes. CHAPTER FIVE ELLEN sensed the antagonism of the two girls. She ignored it. They were staring at the ivory gown. Let them stare! Her own pleasure in the gown had evaporated. She neither knew nor cared how beautiful she looked in the soft ivory taffeta which swept the floor around her. Tony, bright-eyed, small and brunet, barely was covered by a wisp of chiffon which clearly revealed her breasts and young, unformed legs. Her sigh of admiration, a purely feminine sigh, turned swiftly to envy as feminine. "The competition is going to be fierce tonight,” she whispered loudly to her platinum-haired companion. “Maybe she thinks she’s going to be presented at Buckingham palace,” countered Anise, flipping her cigaret to the floor. Tony chuckled gleefully. "The queen herself,” she giggled. “And in a dress from Chantel or I’ll eat my favorite lipstick.” The youngster jumped to her feet, ran across the room and before Ellen understood her purpose she had pulled down the back of the dress to examine the label. "It is a Chantel,” she confirmed in an awed tone. And to Ellen, “How come you wear a dress from Chantel to dance in a dump like this?” Ellen felt like tearing off the dress and stamping on it. She was angry and humiliated. A good part of her anger was directed at herself. She should have known better than to select so unsuitable a costume merely because it was becoming. She had come to Dreamland to work—not to play. Play time was for girls who were protected and cared so girls who would have been scornfully amused at the notion of dancing at Dreamland to earn money for rent. "Go away,” she fiercely addressed Tony. “Go away and let me alone. And take your hands off my dress!” "Aw, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” apologized Tony, with a contrite distressed little laugh. “Honest, I’m sorry. Don’t be sore. I was only focling. You look swell.” Her r )all face was puckered with earnestness. She slipped her brown h id into Ellen’s hand and grinned up at her engagingly. Any one would have forgiven Tony in that mood, as Tony well knew. Ellen forgave readily. She thought Tony a good-hearted youngster for all her defiant hardness, worth a dozen of the languishing Anise. Anise was still, sulky and aggrieved when the three girls walked into the ballroom. (To Be Continued.)

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TARZAN THE TERRIBLE-

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Just where her father and brothers were, Pan-at-lee did not know. Strange noises smote her ears from the lonely mountains towering above her. Once she heard what she thought was the bellow of a bull gryf. Shuddering, she hurried on. Presently her keen ears heard something approaching and, scarcely breathing, she crouched and waited. Suddenly two yellow-green spots of fire blazed through the black night.

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

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I • I*3l. by Edgar Rice Burroughs trie. Ait ngbt* rewired. {-25 I

Part-at-lee was brave; but, like all primitive peoples, the darkness held infinite unknown terrors for her. Already she had passed through many shocks this night and her nerves were on edge. With a shriek that echoed among the hills, she turned and fled along the rim of Kor-ul-lul. Behind her came the devileyed lion of the mountains of Pal-ul-don. Ban-at-lee was lost! She knew a frightful dteath was rushing upon her.

—By Ahem

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But to die beneath the rending fangs of the terrible carnivore! It was unthinkable. There was an alternative! The lion was almost upon her; another moment and he would seize her. Pan-at-lee turned sharply to the left. A few steps she took and then disappeared over the rim of Kor-ul-lul, the ‘gorge-of-water.” The bafled lion, planting all four feet, barely stopped upon the verge of the abyss. Looking downward into * re black shadows, he gave an angrjr roar.

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

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Through this same night’s darkness, Om-at, the hairy pithecanthropus, led the way toward the caves of his people. Followed by Tarzan and Ta-den, he halted beneath the great tree growing close to the cliff. ’First,” whispered Om-at, “I will go to the cave of Pan-at-lee. Wait! I shall soon return. Then we shall all three go to Ta-den’s people.” He moved silently to the foot of the cliff, and presently Tarzan saw Jm ascending like a great fly on a wall.

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin