Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 48, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 July 1932 — Page 11

JULY C, 1932

LEAP YEAR BRIDE <te ft

BEGIN HERE TODAT CHERRY DIXON, pretty 19-ver-o!d <lUßlit*r of wealthy parent*. fills In love with DAN PHILLIPS, newspaper reporter. She auarrels with her father about Dan and then, taktna advantage of Loan Year, asks Dan to marry her. Thev are married and move Into a cheap apartment. Cherry's struggles with housework are discouraging. DIXIE BHANANON movie critic of the News, is lriendiv with Cherrv. She meets handsome MAX PEARSON, also of the News. After several week’s Cherry's mother becomes seriously 111. The *irl Is called home and there is a reconciliation with her parents, but nride will not allow her to accept financial aid from them. When MRS. DIXON, la stronger, she and her husband leave for several months at the seashore. ..... Cherrv and Dan are Invited to a swimming nartv at, a ncarbv resort. Dan is delaved and Cherrv starts with Pearson. A storm overtakes them and while they are waiting for It to pass, he tells her he loves her. They finally reach home, but after that Cherry avoids Pearson. BRENDA VAIL, magazine writer, cornea to Wellington. Dan meets her and she asks him to collaborate with her on a plav. Dan spends most of his evenings at Miss Vail's apartment. He and Cherry Plan an evening together, but a t-ienhone call comes for Dan from Mis* Vail NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (Continued.) THE girl nodded. “Mrs. Moreau promised to help me,” she told him. ‘Oh course I don’t expect it to be very beautiful, but the color's pretty. Don’t you think so?. “It’ll do to wear around the; house. Besides, I wanted to see if I could really do it. The pattern and cloth together cost only $1.75.” “You're getting to be a miser,” Dan told her grinning. “Pretty soon you'll be wanting me to wear homemade shirts and crocheted neckties.” “I’ll have to learn to crochet first. Are you hungry? Dinner’s almost ready. I can have it on the table in ten minutes.” “No hurry,” Dan said. What do , you say we go over and pay a call ’ on the Caseys tonight? He was asking last w r eek when we could come over.” “Oh, I’d like that!” the girl said eagerly. “But aren’t you going to work on the play?” Dan shook his head. He came over to where Cherry stood and took her chin in his hand. “I decided to knock off for a while,” he said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had an evening to ourselves. You don’t mind having me around, do you?” “There’s nothing I’d like better! It has been lonely here this last week, but of course I know what it means to you to finish the play. How’s it going, Dan.” He frowned. “Not coming as fast as I hoped it would,” he said, “but of course, I don’t know much about these things. “I guess if you didn’t have anything else to do but sit down and write, you could turn out plays and short stories in no time." “Some day you’ll be able to do that.” “Well—l hope so ! This working all day on a news beat and then trying to keep up with Brenda Vail nights isn’t so easy. Anyhow, let’s forget about the play tonight. I don’t want to even think about it.” “Then we’ll forget it!” They sat down to dinner. Dan talked about a medical discovery reported in the day’s news. ,He mentioned the fact that Max Pearson had been offered anew job and was undecided about taking it. Dan had discouraged him. “Maybe it’s selfish,” he explained, “but I hate to think of old Max going away.” It was later while Cherry was putting up the last of the dishes that the telephone rang. “I’ll answer,” she told Dan and a moment later added, “It’s for you!” Cherry had recognized Brenda Vail's voice. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN DAN put down the telephone. “I’m sori;y,” he said. “Guess well have to see the Caseys some other night. That was Brenda calling. She’s just had anew idea for the ending of the first act. Wa its . me to come over and rewrite what we did last night.” “Couldn’t it w.ait until tomorrow?” “Why, Cherry, I can’t very well ask Brenda to wait. It’s a big opportunity for me, you know. “It’s not every author who’d be willing to collaborate with a person entirely unknown. If she wants to work on the play tonight, I think it’s up to me to be there.” “I suppose you’re right,” Cherry said slowly. “You’ll have to go.” Dan disappeared into the dressing room. A few minutes later he was back, pulling the ends of his tie

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through to make a neat knot. “Listen, Cherry," he said, “why don’t you come along with me?” “You mean go with you to Miss Vail’s?” “Sure! Maybe well be through early and we can pick up somebody at the office for a game of bridge. Or, we might see a late movie.” Cherry shook her head. “No, I guess I’ll stay at home.” “But why don't you come? You said you'd been in the house all day. It would be good for you to get out.” Cherry was not to be persuaded. “You go,” she said. “If Mrs. Moreau’s upstairs I’ll go up and talk to her. I’d like to have her see if I’ve cut that dress out the way I should.” Ten minutes later Dan was gone. Cherry hesitated before she finally took the folds of yellow cloth over her arm and went upstairs to wrap on the door of the Moreau’s apartment. Why should she feel jealous of Brenda Vail, this woman who was almost a stranger? What did it matter to Cherry if Dan spent so many evenings with Miss Vail? They were writing a play—‘he play that was to make Dan known to the world as a talented young author. “I should be grateful,” Cherry told herself. “She’s doing what I can’t for Dan—helping hin make a name and a place for himself. “It means everything for me, too. Money. The sort of life we’ve dreamed of. Happiness! Dan could never be happy with things as they are now. He's too ambitious. “Oh, I should be glad Miss Vail came to Wellington and glad she’s staying!” Somehow, although she told herself all this several times, she could not quite believe it. Not a single thing had happened to plant in Cherry’s mind the seed of jealousy and yet the restless, troublesome thing was there. nun DAN did not come home early that evening or the next. He told Cherry enthusiastically that at last the play was progressing. Two acts were almost completed. The third, which was to be the last act, was going to be difficult to handle. There was so much about the mechanics of writing for the stage of which he was ignorant. Brenda seemed to know, though. If the play really “clicked,” the credit would be Brenda’s. “She’s great!” he assured Cherry with glowing eyes. “Brenda knows life. She’s as different from the sort of people you meet around here as day is from night.” It was on such occasions that the green-eyed goddess asserted itself. Cherry would remain silent to keep the bitter thoughts from her lips. Dan did not seem to notice how much of the time Cherry was silent. There were evenings Dan did not spend working with Brenda. Occasionally Miss Vail had oher engagements. Once some friends came for her and drove her to a town fifty miles away. She spent two days there, returning to tell Dan that she had been bored horribly. She managed,‘without saying so, to convey the impression that the time had been dull because she had missed understanding companionship. There were other evenings when Dan had assignments or was busy at the office. He telephoned to Cherry on a night when he had been working late. It was almost 9 o’clock. “Listen, honey,” he said, “Max and I are going to stop for you in fifteen minutes. Can you be ready? It’s a grand night and we’re going to drive out to anew barbecue place on Stewart road. Better have a coat —it’s cool out. Yes, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Twenty at the latest!” The twenty minutes were not yet up when the roadster halted before the apartment house. Cherry came down the steps wearing a knitted sweater suit. It was brown and pulled close over her head was a scarlet beret. She looked unusually childish, unusually attractive. Cherry called “Hello!” gayly and stepped into the roadster. She had not seen Max 'Pearson since the night of their drive through the storm.

His greeting was friendly, casual. Dan wanted to know if Cherry was sure she would be warm enough and she said that she was. A moment more and they were off down the street. The week had brought the first foretaste of autumn weather. There was a sharp nip in the air and-pnee as they neared the limits of the city the odor of burning grass came to them. It must have been the first fall bonfire. Overhead the sky was almost black and the stars gleamed with chill, bright frigidity. Cherry felt Dan’s arm around her and snuggled close. She was glad that she had worn the woolly sweater suit. The cold wind struck against her cheeks and sent her blood back tingling. It was good to be riding through the night. It was good to have Dan at her side. Suddenly in the darkness Cherry’s worries and problems slipped away. Her fingers found Dan’s hand, slipped into it. He was saying something she could not hear because of the wind. Cherry laughed and turned her head. Dan repeated, “I said we hadn’t driven out on this road since June. Remember? Max brought us that night, too.” Cherry nodded. The memory of that spring night was still sweet. All the happiness she had known with Dan suddenly came crowding back. Oh, how could she have thought for one .moment that anything could affect her love for Dan or his for her? Os course it was nonsense! She had been making herself unhappy over nothing. . Nothing was wrong and nothing ever would take Dan from her! tt u PEARSON was talking now. He had to raise his voice so as to be heard above the wind. Cherry did not even listen or hear Dan’s reply. i

7TSQOK ~A DAY BY BRUCE CATTQN

WHAT were the best books to be published in June? Well, one man’s choice is as good as another’s, if not better; and since June didn’t exactly see a record breaking number of second Conrads and Kiplings introduced to the reading public, any list is bound to contain one or two weak sisters. Anyway here are the five books that seem to me to be the best of the month’s offerings. First of ah, “The Pilot Comes Aboard,” by Will Levington Comfort. This is an unusually fine story of a young man who ran away and went to sea and would up as the skipper of a great liner. It’s a book that belongs on anybody’s list, and if you miss it you miss something first rate. Then there’s “I Cover the Waterfront,” by Max Miller. Miller, a reporter for a San Diego paper, tells of the things a reporter sees while on duty, and makes a very pleasant and entertaining book out of it. “America in the Pacific,” by Foster Rhea Dulles, belongs in the list, because it gives a clear, objective picture of the long development of the nation’s policy in the far east and provides information that every American ought to have. “Undertow,” by A. Hamilton Gibbs, gets a place .too. This novel about the struggles of a young British artist to find himself isn’t especially distinguished, perhaps, but it’s nicely done and it holds your interest. Lastly, there’s “A Picture of America,” by Charles Cross, a pictorial argument for Socialism. I don’t commend the book's conclusions, but it does give a graphic summary of some of the things wrong with the country.

STKKEftS

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Yesterday’s Answer

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TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN

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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

She was glad the conversation was about something at the office about which they would not expect her to express An oninion. They were riding along a welllighted highway. Presently, far ahead, an electric sign loomed up. ‘‘That’s the place,” Pearson told them. “Jo and I were out last week. Elegant fried chicken they serve. That is. if you’re in the mood for fried chicken—which I certainly am!" “Chili for mine,” Dan announced. “Haven't had a gdod bowl of hot chili for ages.”

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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“ Why do they call it a barbecue?” Cherry wanted to know. “It looks just like any other place to eat.” They had reached the lighted building. A dozen cars were parked by the road and there were more in an enclosed space at the other side of the structure. Pearson brought the roadster to a halt and the three stepped to the ground. “There’s a theory.” Max explained, “that these places actually barbecue their meat—cook it whole, you know, over a bed of

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coals. Asa matter of fact, I think their kitchens are just about like any other restaurant's. ‘‘You get good food and not much service—which suits most folks when they're driving.” They entered the long, low building. Three men in white caps and aprons were serving customers who sat on high, swivel stools or lounged against the counter. There were two girls with escorts at one end of the room. The other customers were men. One of the men behind the counter was making sandwiches. An-

—By Ahern

Ska, the vulture, perched upon the horn of Gobru, the dead buffalo, became suddenly aware of a movement in a nearby thicket. Sabor, the lioness, emerged from the foliage and walked slowly toward him. Bka was not terrified. He crouched to spring upward, extending his great wings to aid him in taking off. But Bka never rose. As he tried to do so, something pulled suddenly upon his neck and held him down. Scrambling to his feet, violently this time, he strove to fly away.

other was filling cups of coffee for a tray that evidently was to be carried to customers waiting outside in a car. mmm CHERRY and Dan and Max found places at the counter. They gave their orders and were served almost immediately. The hot coffee was strong and delicious, the chicken delicately tender. Though the portions were huge, Cherry finished every crumb. The talk drifted to Dan’s play. “Putting a lot of time on it, I suppose,” Pearson asked easily.

OUT OUR WAY

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“Every minute I can spare. You know I had no idea there was so much work to a play. It’s not just writing the lines, but thinking the thing through and planning how it's to go.” “How about the collaboration?” Pearson wanted to know. “Do you both write and put your work together, or how do you manage it?” “Oh, we just talk together and work it out. I sit at the typewriter and do the actual writing, but Brenda has most of the ideas.” (To Be Continued)

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The hateful thing that had been dangling about his neck for so long was holding him to earth. The .swinging loop of Tarzan’s golden chain had caught about the buffalo's horn. Ska was trapped. He struggled, beating his wings. Sabor stopped to regard his wild antics. After a moment s watching she slunk back into the underbrush, turning once to see if Ska waa pursuing. But Ska was doomed. Never more would he pursue anything I

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

/ —By Martin