Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 287, Indianapolis, Marion County, 9 April 1932 Edition 02 — Page 13

APRIL: S, 1952.

a. mm huhtcr/ m BY MABEL McELLIOTT 0/952 ay aju rrtvKt me.

Br.OIN HERE TODAY SUBAN CAREY, who lives with her AUNT JESSIE on Chlcmto* west side. hs sn unpleasant experience when she nolle* for her Orst Job. 808 DUNBAR. ratlllonsire's son whom Susan had met at business school, comforts her. r6he secure* emnlovment as secretary i ERNEST HEATH, prominent architect. EN LAMPMAN a moddv vouna admirer eif Susan’s, invites her to a studio party wiven hr some Bohemian friends. Susan floes not enlov the affair and decide* not to see Lamoman any more. Weeks nass and the !rl Is lonelv. JACK WARING. Heath * assistant and divorced. shows the alrl attentions, but ahe refuses his Invitation*. NOW GO ( ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER NINE (Continued) *T wouldn’t dare,” she breathed. She looked around her. The girl who was called Denise, the flowerfaced one with the strange, red hair, was gesticulating with her cigaret find squinting through the little column of smoke. It struck Susan for the first time that Denise was rather out of place In this shabby company. Her frock was exquisite, her shoes narrow and delicate and fine. The bracelet on her narrow wrist looked real and sparkling in the dim light. Ben glanced carelessly across the room. "Oh, her!" he said casually. “She’s a society girl from Winnetka or some place. Sonya picked her up fit a club. Guess she thinks she's slumming." Susan gave Denise an envious glance. What strange tastes some people had, the girl reflected. This stranger who might be sipping iced tea on some veranda high above the lake chose to spend a stifling summer evening in the broiling heart of the city in a stuffy room. The red-haired girl glanced across fit Susan as though their thoughts for an Instant met and clashed. Denise’s strangely compelling eyes, set like aquamarines under penciled brows, met Susan’s with a look almost proudly disdainful. Susan felt a flash of prescience. She shivered a little. Somehow she knew that Denise would cross her path again. CHAPTER TEN ON the way home in the hard brightness of the street car, Ben said, "That’s the way to live. Dike Sonya and Arnold. Free and easy." Susan stared at him. "You like that?” Ben moved Impatiently. “Oh, I know what you'd say. I know the apartment’s kind of messy. But they're not tieji down. They live their own lives and have a good time." Susan, remembering Arnold's unkempt appearance and the greasy loops of Sonya’s pale hair, the spots on her smock, was silent. She did not want a criticise Ben’s friends. "It’s a great love, anyhow,” Ben burst out after an interval as the brightly lighted trolley proceeded, in series of jerks and stops. "They were terribly in love. "A. nold had a wife some place in Russia, but they fixed that up. They’re what I call a really happy couple.” Susan felt an hysterical impulse to laugh, but she restrained herself. She had thought the whole crowd, the Strinskys and their unwashed friends (with the exception of that exotic blossom, Denise), dreadful people. With provincial simplicity, she discounted whatever talent lay in Arnold’s long fingers because they

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did not look clean. She wondered how she best could describe the party to Aunt Jessie. She let her hand lie limply in Ben’s warm one at parting. "I can’t ask you to come in," Susan said gently. “Aunt Jessie’s gone to bed. Thank you for taking me to the party.” Ben muttered, "Wanted you to meet the crowd. You’ll like them better when you know them. They’re real people.” Susan withdrew her hand. "Good night, then.” she said, avoiding his hot, uncomfortable gaze. He called after her, “I’ll phone you.” Susan waved to him through the screen door, glad the tiresome evening was over. There was something almost frightening about Ben’s intensity. Even when he had talked of the Strinskys’ romance, he had made it seem a personal matter. Those dreadful people! Their way of living might seem ideal to Ben Lampman, but certainly it did not to Susan. She would not go there again!, u u * BUT as summer waxed and waned, the girl almost regretted her decision. Chicago’s Bohemia might not be the social background she desired, but loneliness was hard to bear and the warm nights brought with them an aching sense of missing something. Rose Milton went to Sweetbrier lake for two weeks and wrote back glowing accounts of her conquests. She sent snapshots of herself, the center of a merry mixed group. Susan, tossing sometimes on a hot and disordered bed, listening to the raucous music of the radio next door, would wonder about life. She was 19, not unattractive, intelligent. What promise was there ahead for her? Even if she held the job at Ernest Heath’s (and it looked as if she might, with Miss O’Connell’s convalescence lengthening out) what had she to look forward to? Next year she might get $22 a week. In five years she might even be making $35. Well, what then? She would stay on with Aunt Jessie in the cottage. She would be 25, she would be 30, 35. She would begin to wear eyeglasses and go to lectures in the evening with some woman friend. She would be one of the brave, ever-increasing army of unmarried women workers in the Loop district. They had their two weeks’ vacation, their one presentable suit. They wore neat, sensible shoes and devoted themselves wholeheartedly to the concern for which they labored. Susan saw them in halls and elevators. She heard them whispering together in the cafeterias. “My boss says—-my boss thinks—” There would be usually a smug little smile as they spoke of their employers. "Office wives,” Susan had heard them called. Their loyalty, certainly, was a quality most wives would do well to copy. They had none of the wives’ privileges. They had neither charge accounts, nor chauffeur-driven cars, nor trips south in the winter. They kept columns neat in big ledgers and typed exquisite letters. They remembered to order flowers

for Mrs. Blank’s anniversary. They dusted the big mahogany desks and turned the loose-leaf calendars daily. They called the University Club to order a table for four, for Tuesday, please, “and will you be sure it’s near the window?” They bought theater tickets for plays they never were to see, ordered cameillias for pretty ladies who had no reason for existence, and made deposits in bank books of sums that would have kept them in clothing throughout their lives. Susan said to herself that it wouldn’t he so bad if the average secretary could see herself getting ahead as a young man might, using the office as a stepping stone to higher places. The typical girl worker, however, poured her energy, her sympathy and her intelligence into the job and unless she met with exceptional luck or extraordinary favoritism she might work ten, fifteen, twenty years without any recognition beyond the weekly pay envelope whose sum remained discouragingly small. * n n SHE was young, she was lonely, she was good. Sometimes during those warm, disturbing summer nights Susan wondered if it paid. She wondered if she might not, some day, answer the invitation in Jack Waring’s eyes. She wondered if that seat in his sport roadster might not prove altogether too alluring some evening. Susan hoped not, but she wondered. The telephone rang one morning when she was alone in the office. "Hullo. Miss Carey?” The girl’s heart, for no good reason, began to beat thickly and uncomfortably. "This is Bob Dunbar. Be an angel and have lunch with me. At 1? Righto. How about the Blackstone?” Susan hung up the receiver with a gasp. The Blackstone, and she was wearing her old pink shantung! Well, her hat was new. It was a little rose pink straw she had picked up on a basement counter for $1.50. You never would have guessed the price. In a fever of excitement she waited for Pierson to come back to relieve her. With trembling fingers she pressed the small hat into place. If only she had known, if only she had guessed he was going to call her! She might have had a manicure. She might have worn her more sophisticated blue crepe. She might have done a thousand things! Dissatisfied, almost in tears, at last she picked up her hand bag and turned to go. Pierson's whining voice followed her. "Don’t forget to be back by 2 sharp. Mr. Heath has that cathedral estimate he wants to draw up.” Susan caught her underlip in her teeth. Well, that was being a working girl. She would have to hurry. No dallying over the coffee cups for her today. But the pulse that had been set drumming in her blood ever since she had heard Bob Dunbar’s voice over the telephone would not be stilled. She walked, on air to Michigan avenue. Despite the fact that the society editors declared no one stayed in Chicago for the dog-days there was, as usual, a well-dressed, alert-eyed throng of shoppers on the avenue. The day was a gift from the gods. Cool, almost sharp that breeze was and there were white caps ruffling the cobalt surface of the "inland sea.” Susan drew great breaths and was glad to be alive—glad to be on the sunny side of 20—glad to be meeting this particular young man. He came toward her, detaching himself from the little group in the lobby, and she felt a lift of the heart at sight of that tall, wellknit figure in its perfectly fitting gray flannels. He lifted his hat and that simple action sent her heart rearing and plunging like a wild thing.

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Yesterday’s Answer

The profit was % cents. The 1920 • oranges the man bought cost him $23.04. Those he sold at 8 for 15 cents netted him $lB. Those he jold at 12 for 15 cents netted him $6. Thus he took in $24, or % cents more than $23.04.

TARZAN THE TERRIBLE

“Long have I been held captive In the temple,” replied Lady Greystoke to the questions of O-la-o. “There the high priest saw to it that I was Instructed in your language. I am from a far country, princess—one to which I long to return; and I am very unhappy.” “But my father, the king, would make you his queen,” said the girl. “Surely that should make you very happy!” “It does not,” replied the captive, “I love another. Ah, princess, if you had known what it was to love an*J to be forced into a marriage with another,!you would pity me.” ' , .£ •' >

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

“You look awfully fit!” The clipped voice was just as Susan remembered it. Not for nothing had Bob Dunbar spent several years at British schools. She smiled at him, almost too happy to speak. "You, to,” she said softly. She wondered why she was always at ease with this boy. She had known him such a little while, and yet it was always as if they were renewing an old and delightful acquaintance. It was as if they had known each other forever. u H HE leaned across the table, his blue eyes darkening as he stared at her frankly, quite as if

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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he'd never seen her before. "I like you in that pink thing,” he said slowly. And a strange thing happened. The room, the other lunchers, the waiters murmuring in a comer, the music muted from the strings of a discreet orchestra, all seemed to vanish. The boy and girl were alone. Yet all she said was, "Thank you.” Her voice shook ever so little as she formed the words. "I’m going abroad again,” said the boy, still looking at her strangely and deeply. "Father wants me to. I wanted to say good-by.”

The princess was silent, for that situation was exactly what she was facing. t “I do know,” she said at last, “and I am sorry for you; but if a king’s daughter can not save herself from such a fate, who may save a slave woman? For such in fact you are.” Meanwhile, in.the great hall In the palace of Pai-ul-don, the king was giving a banquet to celebrate the morrows betrothal of his only daughter to the beastly Bu-lot, son of Mo-sar. The bridegroom-to-be, his powerful father and most of the guests were indulging themselves heavily in drink*

The words rang like a, knell in Susan's heart yet, being a woman, she summoned a fixed smile to answer him. "Going abroad?” she repeated, feeling rather stupid yet unable for the moment to find other words. He ’frowned and played with his fork. "Yes. Thought I was to stay her and go into the business.” She said, “I’m sorry” and the words struck her as being painfully inadequate. "So am I.” His mouth twisted whimsically as he looked at her. "I—it hasn’t all gone as I thought

—By Ahern

KET HIM TO J and n uorrre u „. % WAUA, ILL \ 1 > THE DOS EVEN TO M :OM£ OIJ / / / { WALK —X GUESS > up!! Jf s h IUR' I - 1 - AU. Hav£ j'i (i ■ f!6 HELP CARRY //A r js# V set

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C 1931, by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc All right* reserved. L2&

Now the king had little love for this mighty chieftain ana his ugly son—nor they for him. He had consented to the coming marriage with O-io-a merely to save his throne from these powerful claimants. The carousing was at its drunken height when Bu-lot, emptying his tankard at a single gulp, cried out: “This do I drink to O-10-a's son and mine, who will bring back the throne of Pal-ul-don to its rightful owner.” The king could scarce contain his wrath as this insulting toast, and rose to his feet, flooring at the offending guest.

it would. I wanted to be friends. I hoped—” The waiter arrived with a tray of little silver dishes and Susan hated him. There was an interval and then they were alone again in the vast, scented, murmuring room once more. "Well, that’s that!” Bob Dunbar told her. His laugh sounded nervous and harsh. ‘‘Perhaps you’ll still be around when I come back.” "When will that be?” "Oh, late fall—by Christmas, at the outside. Christmas Christmas Christ-

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

“The king is not yet dead!” cried Ko-tan, “nor is Bu-lot yet married to his daughter. There is still time to save Pal-ul-don from the boasts of swine.” Every eye turned upon Bulot and Mo-sar, who sat directly opposite the kir.g. Suddenly sobered, Bu-lot sprang from his seat, where he had sunk after delivering the toast. Seizing a knife from the sheath of the warrior upon his right, without warning, he hurled it with terrific force at Ko-tan. The latter had no defense, and there could be but one result—Ko-tan, the king, lunged forward across the table, the Blade buried in his heart.

PAGE 13

mas—. Susan felt as though she were suffocating. To find love, all at once, and have it snatched away. Those large, fringed eyes, gray and black by turn, were raised to his. “That’s right. I wanted to tell you something. I would have before, but the family’s been pestering me all summer. Been keeping me out of town. Treating me like a kid in grade school. But you must know—you must have guessed before this—” (To Be Continued)

—By Williams

—By Blossen

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin