Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 254, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 March 1932 — Page 13

MARCH 2, 1032

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BEGIN HERE TODAY Beautiful ELLEN ROBBITER. mPloyrfl at Barrlar** department store, ■works nights as a dance hall hostess. Bhr lives wtrh her mother. MOLLY ROS6ITER. her elder sister MYRA, and her •abv brother MIKE. BTEVEN BARCLAY, 57. and the owner Barclay ' is In love with Ellen. TANARUS iee she refuses to marry him because she loves LARRY HARROWOATE. an artist. Flip loses her heart to Larry. In spite of the fact that his engagement to ELIZABETH BOWES, a debutante, ha* been announced. Larrv asks Ellen to pose for a portrait. She agrees on condition that Mvra and BERT ARMSTEAD, Myra'* flarre, aerompanv her to the studio. One night Myra and Bert leave the eotiple together and Ellen sees a plciur< of Elisabeth Bowes on the piano. He explains casually that she is a frierjd of his. F .en pales and shows obvious embarrassment. Larrv. realizing that something i* wrong, asks for an explanation. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CContinued) She ?hook her head when he insisted that she keep up the good work and rose hastily, so hastily that she knocked to the floor a photograph which had been lying face downward on the piano. She picked it up and gazed at the photograph. Smiling out at her was the face of Elizabeth Bowes. Ellen’s heart failed at this visual evidence of the unknown girl’s possession of the man she loved. She felt as if the blood were draining slowly from her body. “Oh,” she said, after a horrible, (endless interval. “What a—a pretty £irl!” “Yes, isn’t she?” Larry agreed. He put down the bottles and the bag of sandwiches, came over and removed the photograph from Ellen's Angers and laid it back on the piano, face down. “She’s rather a good sort,” he Reid casually. “A friend of mine. What do you say we eat?” Ellen, a bright fixed smile on her fare and death in her heart, agreed that they should eat. Oh, why hadn’t he told her the w r hole truth? She thought she could have foribriven him everything if only he had told her. She desired passionately to blot him forever from her sight and from her memory. She wanted to tell him that, brutally and cruelly. She desired that he should be hurt as she herself had been hurt. But she restrained her passionate, accusing words. She said only that she would dress while he laid out the simple meal. Her voice sounded flat and tame. “What's wrong with you?” Larry asked, puzzled. She wanted to cry out that he knew-well enough what was wrong. She wanted to tax him with lying—but he had not lied. There was no reason in the world ■why he should tell her everything. He never had promised to be more to her than what he was—a playmate. “What's wrong with you?” Larry repeated. Ellen’s chance had come. He himself was forcing the issue. It was the time to demand that he choose between her and Elizabeth Bowes. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE LARRY was waiting for Ellen to explain her mortal hurt, the hurt she had failed to conceal from him. Face down on the piano between them was the photograph of Elizabeth Bowes.

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Ellen’s eyes rose from the photograph to the man. How could he be so stupid? How could he fail to realize that she loved him and longed to know where she stood, how she fitted into his scheme of things? Or did he understand and was he dissembling? “Out with it, Ellen!” he commanded wilh a nervous laugh. “Don’t tell me that nothing is wrong, because I know something is.” “Maybe it’s a headache,” she ventured at length. “The old feminine alibi won't work this time.” “Well.” she said bravely, “what if I said that seeing this picture made me feel a little—queer?” She touched the photograph on the piano. “Queer?” N echoed and she thought she would die under his look. “Now, I don’t understand at all.” She could not stop now. “What if I said I were jealous?” “If you said that, Ellen. I’d know you were fibbing.” His smile now was easy and teasing. The girl felt a rush om painful color in her cheeks. What had come over her? She had sung herself at his head, and, whether consciously or unconsciously, he had rebuffed her. The green walls of the room seemed to weave. She forced a truly ghastly smile. “I was only joking,” she said and hated him. She continued in a stiff, dry voice, “It wasn’t the picture at all that ups&t me. It was the heat and the posing. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I was afraid I would faint before you laid down your brushes and, I—l guess, I was sort of mad at you for not noticing it.” tt tt “’V'ou poor kid,” Larry said with affectionate concern. “You should have given me a good sound kick in the pants.” “T wanted to.” “I’ll bet you did. You look fagged to death at this very minute.’* Then he asked cajolingly, “Still mad at me for being such a slave-driver?” “No,” she said. “How about a swim in the Shelton pool tomorrow after you get through at the store to prove It?” Before she could refuse, he added quickly, “Sorry, but we’ll have to make it another day. Mother’s coming in from Europe at noon and I'd forgotten it takes a good twelve hours getting through customs—getting mother through anyway.” “That’s all right,” Ellen said forlornly, moving toward the dressing room and hoping desperately that she would not cry. “I couldn’t have gone. I have another engagement.” She had an early dinner engagement with Steven. “Ha!” he exclaimed significantly. “You’ve had lots of other engagements lately.” Then he asked abruptly—and in a voice that at another time Ellen might have sought to analyze: “Ellen, are you in love with someone and holding out on me? Should I be jealous—maybe?” Ellen could even laugh now. An uncertain little laugh it was—but a laugh. “What makes you think I'd tell

■ you, even If It were true?" she de- | manded, striving to make her voice , seem gay and careless. B B B HER eyes,* fascinated and- fearful, did not leave his face, but there was not the slightest change in his expression. “Well, be mysterious,” he remarked, laughing again. He moved away and began to set up a wobbly card table and to fish paper doilies from the box where they were kept. He was removing the oiled paper from delicatessen sandwiches when Ellen slipped into the dressing room and changed the full-skirted taffeta evening gown for her dark blue dimity street frock. She was tying the cherry ribbons at the elbow when she heard the doorbell ring. She though it was Myra and Bert, returned early, until she heard the voices. A man’s voice and a woman’s, voices different and strange to her ear, voices which slurred syllables oddly and were stamped with the stamp of fashionable schools. Larry had had no guests during the evenings she had posed there. The possibility of meeting people from that other world of his—tonight of all nights—struck her with dismay. The walls of the dressing room were thin and she could tell from the conversation that Larry, too, was annoyed. “So you’ve hunted me down, Lona,” he was saying crossly. “I’ve told you and Bob often enough that when I’m working I don’t crave callers.” “Where have you been the last three years or so?” demanded the cool soprano, undisturbed. “I thought you were due at the Carpenters’ house party. “We all looked and looked for you, sending hourly searching parties out into the shrubbery lest you might be lost there.” “I’ve been working,’’ said Larry shortly. “Snubbed, by God! I don’t for a minute believe you’re telling the facts. I’ve heard tales —” a tt tt ELLEN had a premonition that something unpleasant was coming. She hastily kicked off her silver slippers. She made as much noise as passible and partially succeeded in drowning out the voices. But a moment later as she pulled on her patent leather pumps she heard a squeal of excitement from the soprano voice. “Larry, you dog!” exclaimed the voice in malicious delight. “It must be the little pickup, the taxi-dancer, you’re painting. Look Bob—quick! That’s the little charmer we were planning to warn Elizabeth against.” Scarlet-faced, Ellen stuffed her fingers into her ears. As she did, she heard the scratch of the rings as Larry jerked the curtain across the portrait he had been doing of her. The girl’s heart seethed with rage and shame and anger. Lona had been quelled. There was no more of the hateful voice. But already Ellen had heard too much. Enough to understand that Larry’s crowd had discussed her as the “little pickup,” had threatened gayly to inform on him. Lona and the others considered her an eccentricity of Larry’s, only a girl with whom to pass the time away. That she had. feelings too, feelings that could be hurt as easily as their own had not occurred to them. What did they care for her, a girl from a Broadway dance hall? Certainly Lona did not care. Ellen felt perfectly sure that Lona would not consider it in the least important that her cruel words might have been overheard. The girl went calmly enough about her dressing. But all the

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TARZAN THE TERRIBLE JA

"You came just in time!” said Pan-at-lee. "I owe you my life. Who are you, and how did you know I was here? What do you know of Om-at? Where did you come from and what did you mean by calling Oir-at ‘gund'?" She questioned all in one breath. "Wait! One at a time,” cried Tarzan. “You are all alike with your curiosity—the great ape shes of my tribe, the-ladies of civilization, and you women of Pal-ul-don! Patience, and I will answer.*

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time she hated, hated the girl outside, the girl from that otheT world of Larry's. “I’ll never see her after tonight,’’ she thought. What did it matter what that girl said or did or thought? How could it affect her? But it had affected her. It had almost broken her heart. Quietly Ellen stepped from the dressing room into the studio, a pale, composed little person in blue dimity with fluttering cherry ribbons, a pale little person with a still, proud face.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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THERE was an awkward silence broken by the scraping of chairs. The two men rose. Lona, a dark, thin, sallow girl, hardly glanced at Ellen. Indeed, she almost yawned in her face. Ellen saw that she had been right; Lona had no intention of being nice to her. She felt a fierce inner pleasure that even the modish clothes the other girl wore could not make her anything but discontented, rather homely young woman. As for Bob—he was simply another young man in flannels.

Then the ape-man told her of all that had happened since he first met Om-at, her beloved. and especially of how the latter had become ‘gund’ of her tribe. Pan-at-lee marveled! In turn, she told him of her flight, after killing the evil-minded Es-sat. Then she gazed upon him in admiration saying: "Never had I seen a Tor-o-don before. They are terrible creatures with men’s cunning and a beast s ferocity. Great indeed must be the warrior who slays one single handed!”

“I want you two to meet a great friend of mine—Ellen Rossiter,” Larry said with awkward haste. And then, “Ellen, these are Lona and Bob Clendenning. Just a couple of bums that wem’t invited, but rather good sports for all that. Shall we let them share our sandwiches?” He was not sure how much Ellen had heard in the dressing room or whether she had heard anything, but he had deliberately stressed that “great friend,” and Ellen, in a dim way, was grateful for the effort he made.

—By Ahern

“Now for sleep,” said Tarzan, "for tomorrow we shall return to Kor-ul-lul and Om-at, who loves you.” Lulled by a feeling of security, Pan-at-lee slept peacefully while the ape-man flung himself on the hard floor just outside her cave. The sun was bright when he awoke, stretched himself, expanded his great chest and drank in deep draughts of the fresh morning air, while his clear eyes scanned the wondrous beauty of *he landscape spread below them. . a

Larry was trying to help her. She agreed with him that his friends should by all means shar* their sandwiches. B B B T ONA, seated on the top of her spine, her thin legs crossed beneath the billowing organdy of a light dancing frock, raised cool eyes. “It’s a beast of a night for modeling. isn’t it?” she asked indifferently. “Oh, I don’t know,” her husband cut in hastily. “The studio seems pretty cool to me. It’s certainly an improvement on that restaurant I

. OUT OUR WAY

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| Just pried you away from.” “Anew one,” explained Lona. Her thin face lighted with a kind of *pid enthusiasm as she turned 1 to Larry. “Gallotti’s—ltalian. Grand liquor, real absinthe, so I’m told. ; The crowd’s taken it up with a bang. How’s for joining us all on Friday?” “I’m a little fed up with the crowd.” Larry responded bluntly. “Besides, mother's back from Europe tomorrow. And whether you believe it or not, I’ve taken to work with a vengeance.” (To Be Continued)

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The same morning sun looked down upon -mother heroic figure, miles away. It was fighting its way through the hideous morass that encircled Pal-ul-don. Waist-deep in the sucking ooze, the man advanced with heart-rend-ing effort. Greasy with slime and mud was his smooth brown hide, and rusting now’ were his cherished weapons. He had come to open water—slimy, green-hued. Throwing himself in, he swam with powerful strokes, and was halfway across when a hideous water-creature, ith wide distended jaws, bore down upon him, hissing shrilly.

PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Blossei

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin