Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 19, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 June 1932 — Page 15

srrxE 2,10^2

LEAP YEAR BPIDE 11

nrr.iv Hmr toimt nirmr ntxoN i and dt*Ut. tUa F* mo*h*r *>• :* -- ">r •/* r m*tirr bat ',r.K'ri DAN PHOXIPN. >' , m h* ■ in iov* H*r ■*' , a'thT or*nu do not kirnw aha I* aco’iatntad with Dan Chatrv rr>-* :th him to interview a bank rohhar wwtVirt Bh* blunder* lr ’o underworld headnnartfr* and a hulV- .trike* her arm Den take* her to a do- *or a nffi<-e and then home He * train* to exoUln what haa hphened" when MR DIXON anrvear* H* l* very anara and hrandtahea a neatpare- rontalnlnc Cherrv'.* picture and ar. aeronnt of the (hnottnr Mr. Dixon a>rt|er* Dan from the hou*e. Dava par* tn whirh Cherra ha* no word from Dan. Then SARAH. Cherrv'a rr * durover* 'hat he ha* taleohoned he etrl :* out of town. Cherrv tei* out of the house meet* Dan and exoiatn* Dan tell* her h* lo*-* *r- WI'P Cherrv arrive* home, he. father It waiting for her. He aer. tm hr of having met the reoorter. 'c-err* die* her father and he order* h* so 'po'.oc./e or leave. She aaa*. *lll f*! vow GO ON WITH THr ATORT CHAPTER SEVEN 'Continued) Dixon's voice cut in. “You will do as I say!” he told the girl warninglv “Suppose I tell you that I saw you this afternoon in a taxicab on Sixth street. “Suppose I tell you I saw the young good-for-nothing you were j with! You had my instructions that you were not to see that scoundrel j a Rain, yet you deliberately disobeyed! Deliberately broke your word! Well. I’ll see you don’t have a second chance to break it. You're going to California—" • I didn't brrak my word!" the girl drn.ed angrily. “And Dan isn't a aroundrri!” “Silence!" Suddenly the Rirl threw her head hack. “I won’t be silent!" she cried “You’ve bullied every one in this house as lone as I can remember, but now I’m going to talk. You’re not going to send me to California because I won't go! "Do you hear that—l won’t go' And there's no use telling me I ran t see Dan Phillips, because I’m going to see him Just as often •nd whenever I want to—" “Cherry, you don't know what you're saying!" Mrs. Dixon's voice was horror stricken. "Oh, vps. I do!" the girl insisted, j Rhe turned blazing eyes on bo’h parents. “I know how you and father told the servants to lie and tried to keep Dan away from me. Well. I love Dan Phillips. Yes. nd I'm going to marry him!” “Cherry!" The mother's protest was drowned bv Walter Dixon's roar: "You’ll apologize for what you've said, young woman or you'll leave this house!" For an instant father and daughter eyed each other. Then with a little cry Cherry turned. “I’ll never apologize!” she flung over her shoulder. “I'm going away!" CHAPTER EIGHT. DAN PHILLIPS was whistling as he strode up the three steps that raised the Bismarlc hotel above the street level. The whistle died as he swung open the heavy door and entered. The Bismark was a hotel that had seen better days. Its large, comfortable rooms were filled with old-fashioned furniture. The walls, even when freshly papered, seemed *lrah and the high ceilings cast dark shadows. Long since superseded by newer and larger structures, the Bismark obliged its guests by moderate prices and a pleasant tolerance of bills overdue. It had been Dan Phillips' residence for more than a year. Dan crossed the lobby and made directly for the elevator. The car was delayed and as he waited he moved toward the desk where a man with gray hair was sorting letters. "How're you. Cap? Any luck on the ponies today?" The man behind the desk looked tip. grinned. “Aw. I told you I was through with the races. No, sir—not for mine!” It. was a standing joke between them that once old “Cap" Graham had “lost his shirt" on a particularly authentic horse race tip. The old man rather liked to be reminded of it. The incident, suggested that in his day ‘Cap’' had been one of the young bloods, free with his money and a game loser. Dan lingered and the “Cap" continued sorting his letters. There would be none in the pack for Dan. His mail was addressed to the News office. “Sav," he said. "I almost forgot! There was a girl askin' for you. She went into the parlor to wait. Must have been more than an hour

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ago. I don't know if she's still there " “A girl to aee me?" The “Cap" nodded. “Yep. Asked me if Daniel Phillips of the News lived here and was he in. I told her " “But who was she? What did she look like?" “Oh. I'm not much at describin' women folks. Real nice lookin’, though. She didn't tell me her name. Maybe she's still there. Why don't you have a look and see?" Phillips frowned. Someone who knew he was on the News, of course. Might be a nuisance— m n THE door of the elevator cage clicked then, but Dan turned away. He had decided he'd just glance into the parlor and satisfy his curiosity. The ptrlor of the Bismark was the one room in the hotel that clung to its faded glory. Here were assembled the most uncomfortable and Imposing pieces of Victorian furniture remaining from the original collection. A huge, ornate chandelier was suspended in the center of the ceiling, but it was not in use. Massive floor lamps with fringed, pagodashaped shades supplied the dim illumination. With carefully casual manner Dan paused in the doorway. Suddenly he moved forward. •'Why. Cherry 1 ' he exclaimed “What, in the world are you doing here?" She got to her feet. Phillips was beside her now and even in the subdued light he could see that the girl's eyes were red-lined. She smiled, but her pallor was startling. ■'What Is it?" Phillips repeated. | “Why, I had no idea you were! here! When did you come? I'm sorry if you've waited—" “It doesn’t matter.” Cherry told him, “now that you’re here. I didn't know where else to co to find you. I telephoned the News, but they said you’d gone. T didn't know what to do, so I came here." “But, Cherry, is anything the matter?" “No—l guess not. I want to talk to you, Dan.” “Why, of course. Let’s sit down.” They seated themselves on the magenta-colored plush sofa with its stiff bark and tipsy, irregular springs. Dan put a hand over the girl's and saw her eyes light gratefully. “I’ve left home," she whispered. “I’m not going back!" He watched her. incredulous, waiting for her to continue. “It was father,” Cherry went on. “We had a terrible scene. He wanted to send me to California and I said I wouldn’t go!" At the far end of the room a group were sitting about a card table. There were three middleaged women and a man. Dan became aware that the card playing had been suspended. “Wait a minute," he said to Cherry under his breath. “This place is too crowded. Let's get out of here!" They arose and’walked through the lobby to the street door. Outside the cold night air stung their cheeks. Dan put a hand on Cherry’s arm as they went down the steps. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Suppose we walk for a while and you tell me what happened." nun CHERRY drew the collar of her polo coat closer. "Well.” she began, “after I got home I dressetfr and hurried down to dinner. Father and mother still were in the living room and I thought everything was going to be all right. “Father said something about how I was feeling and then, right out of a clear sky. he said mother and I were to leave for California tomorrow! "I couldn't believe my ears. I told him I didn’t want to go and tried to get mother to say something. Then all at once he said he knew where I had been this afternoon and who I was with. “He called you a ‘scoundrel’ and I said you weren’t! And he said I’d broken my word and I said I hadn't, because I didn't promise I wouldn’t see you. And I didn't either! “Then —oh, then I don't know what we both said. It was terrible! I must have lost my head completely. but I couldn’t help it. Father shouted that I'd have to apologize or leave and—well. I left!”

“But Cherry—" “I won't go back no matter what happens. I won't." “What did you do after that?" “Oh. I ran upstairs and got a coat and hat and my purse and left the house. Instead of calling a cab. I walked to the street car and rode down’own. I tried to telephone you at the office and when you weren't there I remembered you said you lived at the Bismark. so I went there.” "You haven't eaten?" “No-o." Phillips swung her about with alacrity. “Well.' he said, “first of all you're going to have some hot food." “But I don't want to eat. I’m not hungry-" “Good for you just the same. Come on.” n n n IT was almost 9 o’clock. Two block's walk brought them to one of a national chain of restaurants with all-night service. Across the brightly polished tile-topped table Phillips gave the order. A complete dinner for Cherry, beginning with hot soup and including a roast and vegetables. Coffee for both of them. “I know I can’t eat, Don. Really I’m not a bit hungry.” In spite of the girl’s protests, she ate and felt better for it. “Now, then," said Dan over the second cup of coffee, “what's to be done next?" Cherry shook her head. “I don't know." "But. Cherry, this is serious. You say you won't go back to your home but what else can you do?" “I—l thought you'd help me.” “Why, I'll do anything I can, of course. But you’ll have to have a place to stay. Have you any friends ” She said she did not. There was no one to whom she could go. Cherrys great eyes were serious now. Beneath the heavy polo coat she was wearing the crepe gown in which she had dressed for dinner. Her hat was the brown felt she had worn in the afternoon. Her lips tried to keep a straight line, but they trembled. “Cherry, darling.” Dan began and then stopped. He saw that one great tear had slid down the smooth cheek. The girl's eyes were dim and misted. “We'll find a place for you." he said brusquely. “I'll get hold of one of the girls at the office "

TTTSCDK A DAY BY BRUCE CATTON

READ the political campaign speeches and you'll absorb the idea that abcoit all this country needs is a series of budget-balanc-ing exercises. Read the new books and you'll find yourself wondering if the cards shouldn't be shuffled for an entire new deal. The writers, in other words, are taking up the political-education job that the politicians ought to be handling. A good example of the sort of book I'm talking about is “Money for Tomorrow," by W. E. Woodward. You may disagree heartily with everything in it. but it will at least set you thinking. Mr. Woodward has focused a keen intelligence on the problems of the republic and his conclusions are very stimulating. Most fundamental of our troubles. he believes, is the fact that the profits of the capitalistic system have been poorly apportioned, with the worker getting too little and the man at the top getting too much. You may find some of it startling, but it makes good reading. It's written, too, in a slangy, breezy style that holds your attention. “Money for Tomorrow" is published by Liveright, and costs 12.

JTICKEP.S

E-'-E—O-A-EOU--0--E-0--E—E Above are two i 4-!eter words, with the consonants missing. See if you can put the following consonants n the proper places, so as to make the word* complete: SSMDNNRRRCCXMPP. ft ,

Yesterday’s Answer

SNAP SNIP . PANS PINS Above are the h>o word*, made out of the letter* SPSNPNAI, which, when spelled back* aids, make two other words, both plural. NAPS NIPS S PAN _ SPIN And here are two more words made bv putting the first letter of the too two words at the end. These words, when i pel led backwards, make two other words. 2

TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN

—““—i n i... .

To these young Alali, Tarzan was no more than an antelope or some other creature their mother. The First Woman, had brought them to feed upon. They would not. however, have thought of eating him had there been other food. The oldest girl knew that he had been brought there to be the mate of The First Woman. In common with the other women of this primitive race, she hunted anew mate each season among the forests and jungles, where the timid male-things lived their solitary lives except for the brief weeks that they were held captive by their stronger women.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

CHERRY brushed her moist lashes with her hand. Bhe said without raising her eves, “But. Dan. don’t you remember what you said this afternoon?" “Why. yes, I think so. What do you mean?" “Don't you remember you said It was father's money that—well, that It made a difference?" “It does. Cherry. There’s no getting around It ” "But, Dan!” Eager eyes were raised to his. “That's all over now. Don't you see? I haven't any monev. I haven’t anything. “When I left home tonight I said

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 said that I was going to marry you!" “Cherry! Why. It’s out of the question. I can’t marry Any one for a long white. You know I don't make enough to keep you in hats or even buy your silk hose! I’ve never thought much about saving and It's taken about all I’ve made to get along. ‘Have a good time while you go' has been the way I looked at things. You see I didn’t dream I was going to meet a girl like you—’’ “But you have met me now. And I don't care anything about money. It's vou. Dan! It's you I want!’’ Fortunately the restaurant was al-

In the stone corrals where they were kept prisoners, these man-things were treated with great contempt and brutality even by the children of their temporary wives. Rarely did they escape, but eventually they were turned loorje. since It was easier to hunt anew mate the next season than to feed one in captivity for a whole year. There was no such thing as love in the family relations of these halfbrutes. When about fifteen years of age the yopng males were liberated and chased into tit* forest, after which their own mothers knew them not from any other man-thing.

most deserted. Neither the other diners who sat across the room nor the waiter who lingered within hailing distance showed any interest in the little drama. Phillips shook his head. "We can t do it!" he said. “It wouldn t be fair to you." “You mean.” the girl's voice continued unsteadily, “you don’t want to marry me.” “Darling, you know that’s not true!" Cherry had turned her head awav. "This afternoon." she faltered, “you said you—loved me. Dan." “I do. I love you too much to risk your happiness."

—By Ahern

The girls at a similar age were taken to the maternal cave where they lived until they succeeded in capturing a mate. After that the girls took up their abode in separate caves. They might even, the next season, become rivals with their mothers for the same man. The building of the stone shelters and corrals In which the males and children were kept was the only community activity in which the women engaged. This they did alone, since the males would .have escaped into the forest had they been released to take part in the construction.

The girl was silent. Outside a newspaper delivery truck with teninch red lettering across Its sides drew up before the glass front of the restaurant. Mechanically Cherry read the words: “Leap Year Proposals. Your chance ... win a prize." The words fairly sprang at her. “Leap Year Proposals. Your chance." She looked at the young man across the table. “Say It again. Dan." she said softly. "Say you love me." “You know I do." Suddenly Cherry laughed. “It's all right then." her voice rose happily. “Everything’s all right! Dan.

OUT OUR WAY

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dear. It’s Leap Year! I’vt a right to ask you to marry m* and if you love me you can't refuse. Let's get married right mjf. Tonight!" (To Be Continued) OUCK STAGES COMEBACK REDDING, Cal.. June 2.—Ducks, like cats, sometimes “come back." Mrs. Albert Reusche recently sold a drake to a purchaser here. A few days afterward It disappeared from j its new home. Three days later it appeared at the Reusche ranch ten miles away, footsore and weary, but still able to honk a hearty greeting.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Equipped by nature with mighty frames, the great shes quarried the great slabs from a side hill overlooking the amphitheater. Then they slide them down to the floor of the little valley, where by sheer strength they pulled and pushed them into position. It was seldom necessary to build new ones, for the high death rate among the females left plenty of vacant indoeure for maturing girls. Jealousy, the hazards of the hunt, and inter-tribal wars took heavy* toll among the adult shes. Even the despisJ male, fighting for his freedom, sometimes slew his captor.

PAGE 15

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin