Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 61, Indianapolis, Marion County, 21 July 1932 — Page 13

JULY 21, 1D32

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BEGIN HERE TOIHY MONA MORAN. who supports her juother Invalid father, little slater. KITTY. and ne'er-do-well brother. BUI), determines lo marrv tor wealth and position. She Is receptionist tor a Wall Street law firm and In the office see* then of the world to which the aspires. , Mona's friend. LOTTIE CARR fashion model at Pllerim's exclusive shop, thinks Mona Is foolish to work In an office when sh could have a lob as a model or no on the stage. Formerly. Mona was employed at Pilerim '*. Hhe prefers She office because she considers It a sounder route to advancement. As she Is leavlne the Third avenue flat one mnrnine, Mona's brother surprises her with the announcement that STEVE SACCARELM. her rbydhood sweetheart, •trandson of the coal and Ice dealer, has returned home. _ . NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER ONE (Continued) “Oh.” Bud's face last all Interest. He attacked the food on his plate with renewed energy. “That was Rus Webber's wife. Rus was buying a pack of cigarets. My girl!” "A fine girl Gertie Webber is, too,” tna remarked. "Rus was lucky to get her. I well remember the day ” Her voice in a rush of reminiscence floated back from an increasing distance. She was in the kitchen getting her purse. “Wasn’t she the girl whose mother wanted a baby with curly hair?” j asked Mona amusedly. “Like yours and Alice’s.” “Like ours. And didn’t her mother i sew bought curls in her bonnet so ' people seeing her in her carriage”— ■ “Blond curls and the baby’s own 1 hair black as the ace of spades,” her mother amended. “That was Gertie. But for all that she grew up to be good-looking, curls or no curls.” "She doesn’t wear false hair now,” Bud remarked defensively. Rus Webber was a good guy. If he married a straight-haired dame, then straight hair was the ticket. Bud would hear nothing that sounded like a reflection on Rus or his bride. “What is your new job—a garage Job?” Mona asked as Ma disappeared with the coffee pot. Bud shifted. “Yeah. Something like that. It may be night work. I’ve got to show up this morning, anyhow.” His eyes, avoiding hers, attached themselves to a spot on the table cloth. He drank his coffee moodily. Mona rose, put her chair back in’ Its place, picked up her coat, slid into it, and took up her purse arid gloves. She was at the door when Bud called suddenly: “Guess who I saw yesterday, Min!” He was regarding her shrewdly as if his news was of great import. A smile hovered over his lips. He rose from his chair. “I haven’t the least idea, Bud. I don't know your friends.” “Your friend, Min.” He came a ■ step or two nearer. She was frankly puzzled. Their social activities were as far apart as the poles. “A friend of mine?” “I’ll say a friend of yours, Min.” Bud’s voice dropped insinuatingly. He took a step nearer his sister. "Well?” Already she knew what Bud was ■ about to tell her. She grasped the knob of the door for support. “Steve's back, Min. Old Steve—he’s back!” nan CHAPTER TWO MONA made her way down the three flights of dreary stairs. The Morans lived as high above the street as the house afforded so that Kitty would get better air. As Mona dodged empty milk bottles and stepped over garbage cans into the gasoline-laden street, her heart was beating tumultuously. Steve Saccarelli back! Back from where —and for what? She remembered Steve so well, though in the three years of his absence the neighborhood, rife with other gossip, had discarded him. The girl smiled a little forlornly. The sight of him would soon revive much of the old gossip. Gossip about Steve and about Mona, too. Mona had been Minnie then. Steve was the grandson of Tony, the coal and ice man around on Third avenue. Olive-skinned, subtle of expression, and Intent, lean, imbued with charm and graciousness. Minnie had been spindle-shanked —or so Bud had called her—freckled, carrot-topped. In an excusable flash of thought, Mona wondered what Steve would think of her now. Three years ago Steve and Mona

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had been inseparable. Perhaps it was puppy love, perhaps it was the opposition of their elders, or it may have been just for tne fun of hearing Mrs. Casey discourse on “that Moran girl” and seeing Mrs. Callahan turn up her nose when Tony’s Stevie passed by. Perhaps it was something deeper. With the pounding of her heart Mona felt a sudden exasperation. She had aspirations above—well, above Tony’s boy! Her father rather had liked i Steve when, in his invalid's chair i set close by the steps, the boy stopped beside him, bringing him an orange or a banana, cheerfully filched from the Greek’s stand. But Mona’s mother, less simple than Dad, knew what the neighbors would say. TWy hadn’t sat breathless on the edge of their seats watching Rudolph Valentino make love for nothing! Steve’s eyes and grace were too reminiscent of compromising scenes in the movies to be trusted. It amused Mona to recall that once she had been thrilled by Steve. Steve Saccarelli, the bad boy of the 60s, later a helper in his grandfather’s business, and then a taxi driver! Taxi driving was a respected occupation in their neighborhood. It paid good money and a man was 1 his own boss. However, the neighbors suspected ! Steve. Too many of these taxi j chauffeurs were gangsters. And | suddenly, swooping down on Minnie | as she returned from the shop one 1 evening, Steve had drawn his cab I near the curb, talked a moment and then disappeared. There were accounts of a jewel robbery in the newspapers next day. Steve vanished. No one ever had seen him again. n u u NOBODY even heard of him except Tony, who relayed the word to Steve's mother, unable either to read or write. Tony, the ice and coal man, coming up from his cellar like a protesting gnome, insisted that the boy was "okay.” Away, yes, but okay. Steve sent much money home to them through a lawyer. For the sophisticates that settled it. Steve was in prison, “taking the rap” for someone higher up who was sending money to Tony until Steve could get out and take care of the family. Then, like other highly colored stories afloat in drab neighborhoods, it ran itself out. Mona never spoke of Steve. Nor had she believed him a gangster. Steve's last bantering chat with her just before his cab careened around the corner and out of sight Mona how understood to have been a farewell. Steve had planned then 1 to go away. The three years that followed had changed Mona, but her feeling toward Steve had not changed. She believed in him, was fond of him. Now Steve was back. What would that mean to her? What would it mean to him, perhaps, if he came back ixpecting to find Mona as she had been three years before? Little drives on hot nights in his battered old car. Trips to Coney. Dancing on an excursion boat as it nosed coastwise toward Atlantic Highlands. Movies. Dancing at Roseland. Roseland, Coney Island! Mona hadn’t thought of them for months. She would have forgotten Sixtyseventh street, too, if that had been possible. Now she hurried toward the elevated railroad, wondering when she would see Steve, unaware that fate ; had decided on the moment. “Minnie!” a voice called behind 1 her. “Minnie, it’s you, isn’t it? | What luck!” It was Steve. He drew the lowj slung car along the curb skillfully and, hat in hand, swung out on the street, his fine teeth gleaming in his olive face, his dark eyes dancing with delight. The old Steve and yet anew Steve. Grinning. Tanned. Suave. Changed, too. A Steve who had taken on somehow the manner of that world to which Mona, at her work in the Wall street law office, daily aspired. Steve was driving a lean-flanked, expensive car—net a taxicab. A soft brown hat-was pulled over his

eyes. Just the right hat. He wore a topcoat turned up about his neck and he wore gloves. "Min! Gee, it’s great to And you!” “Steve!” b m m 'T'HE blood rushed tc her face, then receded as the young man's admiring eyes traveled from the brim of her smart little hat to her shoes. Steve could see 'he change in her, too, Mona knew. A change as important, as subtle as the change that had come over him. Steve hadn’t been in prison! Men do not learn to speak, to dress, to look like Park avenue in Sing Sing! “I’ve thought about you a hundred times, Min. The first thing I did after I got back was look for Bud to ask about you.” Steve grinned again. “I found him in the second poolroom.’ “You might have telephoned.” “Well, I did. But your mother answered and I pretended I had the wrong number. I knew she didn’t like me and I didn’t want to run the chance of losing you.” “As if mother could have kept your call a secret!” “Then,” Steve went on, his hand still closed about Mona’s, “I hung around the subway and the elevated, Sloping to waylay you on the way back from work. ‘Sure she rides home in the boss’ car,’ Pat, the newsie, told me just to tease me. “It’s good to see you, Mona! Aren’t you the early bird, though?” “You are up early yourself. Steve.” He leaned down toward her ear, regarded it admiringly, then whispered with mock secrecy. “I’m not up this early. I’m up this late! Haven’t been to bed yet.” With the gesture of a detective flashing his badge, Steve pulled back his topcoat. He was wearing eve-

7TTSCDK "ZTDffiT BY BRUCE CATTON “OECRET SENTENCE,” by Vicky Baum, is a second-rate idea. It tells of an ardent, dreamy and rather empty-headecl young man in post-war Germany, who joins a secret revolutionary society and is persuaded that it is up to him to assassinate the prime minister. He does the job and gets away; and the rest of the book shows how he carries his own punishment with him and has to pay for the murder even, though he never is captured. He tramps the by-roads of Germany in'winter and summer, alone and friendless. He works in a coal mine, takes odd jobs here and there, toils as gardener in an asylum, narrowly escapes capture, and is cared for by the psychiatrist in charge of the asylum. At last he drifts to a Baltic fishing village, establishes himself among the peasants and works out his own salvation as a humble fisherman. The author seems to have lost some of her ability to tell a story. This novel takes a long time to get under way and you have to read half a dozen chapters before your interest is aroused in the least. Those homely little touches that made the people and events in “Grand Hotel” touch your heart are missing. The central character is not convincing until the book is half finished. "Secret Sentence” is published by Doubleday, Doran & Cos., and sells for $2.

mCKffts AWSLSHCTE If you combine three of the above letters in the correct order, they will be the last three letters of three five-letter words that can be formed by pytting, two at a time, the other letters in front of them. Yesterday’s Answer

TILL, FILL HILL I HOT >4& Ihe doited lines indicate where the horizontal lines were added to form three four-letter words and one three-letter word.

TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN

At sight of the princess the courtiers rose but not the king. “Come, Janzara,” he said, “and behold‘•the strange giant who is more discussed in Veltorismakus than is the king himself.” The princess crossed the room and stood directly in front of the ape-man, who remained standing with arms folded across his broad ' 'St. an expression of absolute indifference upon his face. He glanced at the princess and saw that she was a very beauti-, ful young woman.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

ning attire which to Mona's practiced eye spelled perfection. Well, high life—or whatever the clothes implied—certainly was becoming to Steve. Whatever had brought it about sat easily on his conscience, too. Never had she seen him so sure of himself, so worldly wise. If Steve had consorted with crooks, they certainly must be gentlemen. “I’ll take you down to your office,” Steve suggested after the first excitement of their meeting disappeared. Mona climbed into the seat and

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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Except for an occasional distant glimpse of some of the women of Trohanadalmakus, she was the first Minuian female Tarzan had seen. Her features were faultlessly chiseled, her soft, dark hair becomingly arranged beneath a gorgeous jeweled headdress, and her skin was clear and of peach-like softness. She was dressed entirely in some white clinging stuff, befitting a virgin princess in her father's palace. Tarzan looked into her dark eyes, seeking there an ind x to her character.

Steve jumping in beside her. He started the car with a low, almost imperceptible purr. “Where have you been, Steve?” she asked without parley as they threaded the elevated posts on Third avenue. “You weren’t —you weren’t ” "In jail?” He turned and regarded her profile seriously. “No! And nothing like it, Min! You know—well, maybe I was mixed up in something, but I fooled ’em.” “Fooled who? The cops?” “Harder than that, Min. I fooled •

the gang.” He paused as if about 1 to take her into his confidence, then ! abruptly decided otherwise. j turn QTEVE laid a hand over her small gloved one and tightened his grasp as he continued. “You mustn’t worry about me. You've heard a lot of lies about me since I’ve been gone. Maybe some i of ’em were true! “Everything Ive got, Min, today j is straight money. I've gone straight—did it before I really went crooked! Lots of guys who are in I

—By Ahern

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Here was the young woman whom his friend. Prince Komodoflorensal of the Ant Men, hoped some day to wed and make queen of Trohandalmakus. He saw the beautiful brows knit into a sudden frown. “What is the matter with the beast” cried the princess. “Is it made of wood?” “It speaks no language, nor understands any,” explained her father. “It has uttered no sound since it was captured. “The sullen, ugly brute,” said the princess. “I’ll wager to make it utter a sound and that quickly,” with which she snatched a thin dagger from her belt and plunged it into Xaraaa's arm. *

on rackets would like to pull out, but they can’t. “Maybe I couldn't—but I did I They were sore at me for a while, but it all blew over.” “They can't—?” “Can't what? Get me? Min, they can get any one, as far as that goes. Their bullets don't care who they bump off. But the chances are they won’t go after me. “They aren't afraid I’ll spill anything to the cops. I was all spilled long ago—and plenty! I watched the papers. And I didn’t have very

OUT OUR WAY

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much on them, anyhow. They saw to that.” “You talk like a movie.” “Then let's talk about something else.” There was a pause and Mona noticed that the greeting of the traffic policeman at the intersection of Third and the Bowery as they passed was warm and hearty. She saw admiration for Steve’s car in the policeman’* face. “It's a pretty car, all right,” she ventured. Steve cast a prideful glance over his shoulder at the gleaming length shooting forward like a silver hung bullet.

—By Edg-ar Rice Burroughs

With such celerity had she moved that her act had taken all who witnessed it by surprise. But the few words she spoke before she struck gave Tarzan an instant's warning. It was sufficient. He could not avoid the blow, but he could and did avoid giving her the satisfaction of seeing her cruel experiment succeed, for he uttered no sound. Very angry, she would have struck again, but the king spoke sharply to her. “Enough, Janzara!” he cried. “We would have no harm befall this slave!”

PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By, Martin