Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 242, Indianapolis, Marion County, 17 February 1932 — Page 13
FEB. 17, 1932.
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BEGIN HERE TODAY Beautiful ELLEN ROSSITER. a Mlesfttrl In Barclay's department atore. lives with her mother. MOLLY ROSBITEH. her elder Mater, MYRA, and her young brother. MIKE The two Rtrla support the family. Mollv foolishly spends money saved to pay the rent. STEVEN BARCLAY. 57. and Ellen’s employer, lends her an evenln* dress so she can secure a ‘Job nights dancing at Dreamland. At the dance hall she meets fascinating LARRY HARROWOATE. an artist. Later she breaks an engagement with Larry when she learns he Is engaged to ELIZABETH BOWES, a debutante. However, when he comes to Dreamland demanding an cxplr-iatlon. she makes another ria*e with him for Sunday. Her mother ana her sister favor Barclay’s suit. Sunday morning Ellen and her mother quarrel when the girl declines an engagement with Barclay. Molly bursts into tears and Ellen, repentent. promises she will do her best to fall in love with the older man. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWELVE (Continued) “I heard you saying that you couldn’t go,” Mrs. Clancy confessed. “That’s too bad. It’s such a nice day for an automobile ride.” “Yes. it is, isn’t it,” Ellen agreed find made her escape. it a ELLEN returned to the bedroom. Myra was dressing, but Molly had coilapsed on the bed and was nibbling at a bit of toast. Both fell abruptly silent at Ellen’s entrance and she realized that they had been discussing her. Let them, thought Ellen grimly. "Won’t you tell us about your call?” asked Molly, after a delicate Interval of silence. "Or Is It a secret?” “There’s nothing much to tell,” said Ellen airily. "It was Steven Barclay. He wanted me for a drive this afternoon.” “Ah!” said Molly. There was another Interval of silence. Myra looked sharply as her sister, but Ellen’s gaze was bland and Innocent. Presently she said to her mother, “I’d like to invite a friend to supper.” "Who is it?” asked Molly. She thought she knew the answer. A look of complete astonishment crossed her face when Ellen corrected the impression. "But Ellen!” she cried in dismay. “What about Mr. Barclay?” "What about him?” repeated Ellen. "You said he’d asked you for a drive.” "So he did. I told him I couldn’t go. I can’t, either. I have a date this afternoon with Larry. I thought it would be nice to bring him here afterwards for supper.” tt tt n MOLLY shifted tactics. "I would like to have your friend for supper,” she said, her eyes clear and limpid, “but it’s out of the question, honey. There’s not a clean tablecloth in the house for one thing; they’re all at the laundry. Besides, Mrs. Clancy is coming up. I’ve already asked her.” Ellen suspected that her mother was being perverse. She was sure of it when Molly with an aggrieved air remarked that she supposed a daughter of hers would have too much pride to want to see a man already engaged to another woman. She struck home there. But she was not content to let the matter rest. "Personally I think it rather odd of the Harrowgate boy to ask you for an engagement under the circumstances,” said Molly. “In my day, it would have been considered dishonorable.”
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"You don’t know whether it’s dishonorable or not,” Ellen said angrily, ignoring her own secret doubt*. “Larry has no way of knowing that I might consider the fact that he Is engaged important. “I don’t consider it important. I like him—that’s enough! This isn’t the Victorian age, after all." “There’s no use discussing it,” observed Molly lightly. “We wouldn’t agree, I’m sure.” * m m Tk/COLLY ROSSITER could, when she chose, adopt the most exasperating moed In the world. She chose just when to adopt that mood. When Ellen asked her to meet Larry, Molly remembered a previous engagement to go walking with Mrs. Clancy. Mrs. Clancy was a great aid to Molly In managing her daughters. Whenever they made a request she did not wish to grant, Mrs. Clancy, in one way or another, became a ward in her charge. Ellen understood that, as did Myra. But the family rules forbade any mention of the Action. "I’m sorry you can’t meet him,” Ellen said at last with cold finality. “I’m sorry, too,” conceded Molly. Turning to Myra she said plaintively, "Would you mind, honey, getting me some coffee? Lots of cream and I like it weak. Would you be a lamb and make a fresh pot?” Os course Myra would. But as she walked to the kitchen, she was hoping Molly would be cautious. Never in her life had Molly been cautious. "Did Mr. Barclay say anything special over the phone?” she demanded the instant the door had closed behind Myra. “Anything that you might not want anybody except me to know?” “No,” replied Ellen, half smiling, half sighing at Molly’s terrier-like persistence. “He didn’t say anything more than I’ve told you.” "Was he surprised yesterday when you returned the dress?” "I don’t think so.” n m u MOLLY clasped her hands about her knees and stared dreamily into the hot afternoon. A little smile flickered across her lips. "I’ve been thinking,” she remarked meditatively, “and I believe you were right in declining his invitation this afternoon. He will appreciate you all the more for checking him at first. Men are like that.” “I didn’t refuse for that reason and I’m sure you know I didn’t,” said Ellen in intense exasperation. “We’ve gone over and over this and you know exactly how I feel. I can’t think of anything so dishonest as encouraging a man I don’t love.” •‘Well," countered Molly in well simulated surprise, “I, for one, can’t understand your ethics. Do you think it less dishonest to go running around with a man who is not free, a man engaged to another girl?” Ellen was halted. “I am not proud of that part of it,” she said in ar shamed voice. "The trouble Is that you always believe you’re right and I’m wrong,” Molly continued in a sad little tone. “I’m older and more experienced.
I’m your mother and you should respect my opinions. “I can’t see why any girl would want to risk her reputation—that’s what you’re doing—running around with a man who cared so little for her as Larry Harrowgate seems to care for you when—” “When there is a chance of roping in a rich man,” Ellen interrupted furiously. “It’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one,” Molly agreed placidly, ignoring the storm signals. “There were dozens of other men I could have married, but when I saw your father—” “You loved him,” Ellen broke in triumphantly. "And I don’t and never could love Steven Barclay. Heavens! He’s more than thirty years older than I am!” n n SHE had made a mistake. The point was Molly’s. "Ellen Rossiter! I never thought you’d speak to your mother like this. Your father was twenty-five years older than I was. And you know it.” She burst into hysterical tears. “Oh, mother, can’t you understand?” Ellen wailed. "You’re one person and I’m another. I wasn’t for a minute inferring that you didn’t love father. I know you did. But can’t you see that I’m different?” “You’re so different,”' sobbed Molly, “that you never think of anyone except yourself. The fact that I work myself to the bone, that Mike has nothing, that Myra whom you profess to love has worked herself to death for nine years waiting for enough money to get married, means nothing to you when you meet a young man with no money, no prospects, already entangled with another woman. You’ve forgotten us all.” At just that moment Myra came in with fresh coffee. She had hurried, but she saw at once that she had not been quick enough. Molly lay at the foot of the bed, a sobbing, hysterical heap, and Ellen was trying frantically to comfort her. “What is it?” Myra asked. “It looks as if I’m even less lucky than you,” Ellen answered without looking* up. “Stop crying, mother,” she said gently. “Stop crying. Can you hear what I’m saying? I won’t refuse any more of Steven Barclay’s invitations. I’ll do my very best to fall in love with him.” CHAPTER THIRTEEN ELLEN had not expected to enjoy that afternoon with Larry Harrowgate. She would have said that her mother’s hysterics, her own dissatisfaction with the state of affairs between them, had spoiled the afternoon. But when at 4:30, only twenty minutes late, he appeared leaping up the stairs she saw that she had been wrong. “I’m a mountain goat,” he shouted when he caught sight of her in the doorway. “I’m good for ten flights yet.”
(To Be Continued)
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Yesterday’s Answer
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TARZAN THE TERRIBLE
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Tbs bushes parted and a magnificent beast with brilliant leopard spots stepped into full view A moment it eyed them and then still chafing at the loss of its prey earlier in the morning, it charged. The Pal-ul-donians unslung their clubs and awaited the onrushing beast, Tarzan of the Apes drew his hunting knife and crouched directly in the path of the fanged fury. It was almost upon him when it swerved to the right and suddenly leaped lor Om-afc. . : .f-. .: v ... . .
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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Though it was felled by a staggering blow upon its head, the beast was instantly up. The warriors rushed fearlessly in, but the lionleopard managed to sweep aside their weapons with its mighty paws. A single blow wrenched Om-at’s club from his hand and sent it hurtling against Ta-den, knocking him from his feet. Taking advantage of its opportunity the beast rose to throw itself upon Om-at and at the same instant Tarzan flung himself upon itk back.
—By Ahem
Burying his strong white teeth in the spotted neck, his mighty arms encircled the savage throat, and his sinewy legs locked themselves about the gaunt belly. Powerless to aid, the others stood breathless as the great beast lunged about, clawing and biting futilely at the creature that had fastened itself upon him. Over and over man and beat rolled. Now the onlookers saw a brown hand raised above the side—a brown hand grasping a keen blade.
OUT OUR WAY
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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs
They saw it fall and rUe and fail again with terrific force. Screams of hate, rage and pain rose hideous from the beast's throat. Redoubling its efforts, the creature sought to dislodge and punish its tormentor; but always the tousled black head of Tarzan remained half buried in the dark brown mane and ever the ape-man’s mighty arm rose and fell to plunge the wicked knife into the crimsondripping hide, while the Pal-ul-donians stood in mute wonder and admiration.
PAGE 13
—By Williams
—By Blosser
—By Crane
—By Small
—By Martin
