Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 205, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 January 1933 — Page 13

•TAX'. 5, 1033

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Rif,lN lIFRF. TOtHV RIfKTI A RHAVNE IB r>B Tfr.'n ! f r* rl'.-knr,a: * ;ri< : • • ' : ■ Si. Set York ;<>-.K.:<e lor work. ;s j o Rh ha. aln.D.t ont rr* .:tf fin >n<> fat" 'V' tr: •' ■ ' ,r noroi.*- rtf, ‘ *r.'i . • - <r vl|| and road ho- * Pi;'l;a iiv** a' MA , IfOWEI T. Sal " ni? >‘ f < * MYR'I a a idr ;> ofrformrr n. o out , of v.or- li- t hrr tr. Over (hr >'<••%*! ' . morn 'S' 'h roi,- i frtf* lo M ;• hrr err ’ air. to ma.rv a: and l.n r a lion.* : • ■/. , JI.B hßf ft: 'n t< in fi.icn *n r • Mr- I- : ■ thfn. to an- j nouncf for Shalla II 1i for HAIRY f.l KA ON av.ott r danrrr. V. ho f.a - f-.r„ ••! r.r 81.*.' , 8h l.a fir. - off for JOE PA RIF Off.rr • ' '' 't r t . hv vt nn/ • r TI-VOR tANl'rnd I)I'K RTANI.KV art- • •?- f o ' “ ' 1 n,v*v ; ano nto ttlvr that nurht Thv rtr.irtr if, Paris' office 'o hire ; *omr Cl Mm <.f> ON HIIH Tl STORY CHAPTKR TWO (Continued) "Wlv.it are you going to do with % girl like :,:if'' 1 a.sked Mn shaking hrr hr ad. ' r declare she dors nnrd a good husband. A husband to make hrr work. Rod geraniums! Kitchens! H< r! W.th all that talent and that figurr! • A frv: years' glory on the stage, then a rich husband. Park Avenue. Maybe oven a title from London! An’ her talking about a kitchen! The Lonci save us all!" B B B AT about this time in a pent- - house high up over New York's f xclusive oast, side two young men were persuading themselves rather : reluctantly to awaken and regard the glories of anew day They were awakening rather f'Srly, too. for them. The previous evening they had attended a party. I And tonight they were giving one. Trevor Law. the elder, was sup-j posedly "on Wall Street.” He was 30, or thereabout. , and of that species which so frequently is referred to as a man about town, though, as he himself would have pointed out, his polo ponies, yachts and high-pownred cars kept him rather continually out of both the town and his highly correct and elaborately appointed office. His home, the penthouse, was even more elaborately appointed Aian his office. Certainly it was less difficult to find him there than at the Wall Street address. With Trevor Lane was young Dick Stanley, hs cousin several times removed, not so wealthy and a trifle more ambitious. Dick was in New York ostensibly to learn to write plays. Trevor’s theatrical connections were supposed to be of valuable assistance. Both young men were will set Up. of that vaguely described "clean cut” type, square jawed, affable, well poised. Either might have posed for advertisements of a certain brand of well-known collars. I And both w r ere soon enjoying breakfast as hugely ais if they had earned it by the sweat of their wellshaped brows. "It must be a real party,” Trevor was explaining while the softfooted Kato padded around his chair to refill the coffee cups. Directly opposite, freshly showered and shaven, young Stanley, clad in a dark silk dressing gown, nodded an scowled. How we disliked these parties, particularly when, as now, they were given for the edification of young cousins coming down from a smart school on the Hudson especially for the event. b b a “\r ES,” mused Trevor, waving a Jl hand. Lots of local talent. Stage folks, you know, whom they’ve seen behind the footlights. Lottie iJfason and Joyce Kane have promised to come.” He laughed. “Actually, you see, these . girls usually rush home from the theater and pop into bed. It’s going to be a task to live up to the school girl’s dream of what a leading lady should do! And then Clayton Knight— ’ "The school girls' idol!” observed Dick. •The same. Then for entertainment, I'm calling in some dancers. They'll mix with the crowd and just appear to burst into song or trip a few steps. Gives the party a homey, cosy air.” "And sets you back plenty!” Trevor nodded. "Oh, it’s worth it. lots of fun, showing the country ocusins around.” Dick grinned. He knew that a short while ago when, fresh from Harvard, he had dropped in on Trevor, he, too, had rated that term—"country cousin.” The two finally wrenched themselves from their coffee cups, and, Impeccably clad, with hats set at Just the suave angle, walking sticks tncked under their arms, they descended to the street and hailed a taxi. They were bound for Joe Paris’ to gather talent for tonight’s fete. CHAPTER 111 SHEILA walked across Fortyninth street to Broadway and ran lightly up the stairs to Joe Paris’ place. There was an ele- - vat or if one cared to wait for it.. Sheila could delay to buy flowers from a street peddler, but now a minute was too much to waste on the likes of breath-savers such as elevators. To be sure the job in prospect wasn't much—filling In for Daisy. But it was a job nevertheless. Daisy couldn't dance, but, being married to Roscoe, loader of his own band and crazy about her, it had been easy for her to win a place in the show. Sheila could fill the part far bettor than Daisy and knew it. She wondered—not unkindly—if Daisy's sprain was serious, if it would lay her up for some time. Sheila devoutly hoped that it would. She was n little excited about coming to Joe Paris' place. Joe was the "King of Tin Pan Alley." He was the singing waiter from the Bowery, married now to a society girl. Joe Paris' name on a song was like sterling on silver. His praise meant instant success. Joe of course had not hired .Sheila for the part with Roseoe. Roscoe must have telephoned to pill Brady and asked for sugges-

' ■.. ■ iil jr KEPT RIGHT IN CELLOPHANE

tions. Biil had remembered that Sheila was not working. Frequently Joe loaned his practice rooms to dancers learning a routine -especially when they plugged his songs. Sheila was sure Joe Paris never even had heard her name. She was right in thinking Bill had suggested her. but wrong in thinking Joe Paris did not know her. He had heard her sing and when the time came that she could be useful he would know where to find her. Until then there was no use getting her hopes up. as a call from Paris himself would have been sure to do. a b b UPSTAIRS in Joe's shop every one was busy. There was a long counter behind which a girl answered incessant calls from the telephone and took care of visitors. Pianos jangling. Jazz throbbing Someone crooning. Down tht, corndor were tittle practice rooms, a ‘ piano m each. Dance producers j shouted to overworked, perspiring performers. Someone was trying out Joe’s latest song. Sheila, ever entranced, though it was all so la miliar, loved the blare of melody, ’he jangling, discordant sounds. She loved the raucous I ' oice:, the sight of sleek-hipped,' busy dance arrangers moving briskly here and there, the swarthy pianists, thick cigars hanging from ihe corners of their mouths, whose pudgy hands, lingering over the keys, could squeeze out unguessed melody. Sheila nnd often been at Joe’s to see Blind Timmy. I'immy worked there and drew a fair salary, though whether from the kindness of Joe's heart or from actual worth Sheila did not know. She had seen Joe himself, slim, dapper, sleek of hair, abstract of expression, wandering about the place, his hat on the back of his well-groomed head, hands in his pockets. Or walking briskly toward his private office, deep in conversation with an assistant. She had seen him pause by Blind Timmy’s piano, pat the bent shoulders, whisper words which seemed to bring happiness to the patient old face. Shells loved to see Blind Timmy’s face glow at these scant words of praice. Joe was a big shot now, but he remembered when he had been obscure, struggling. Unlike many others who had risen to success, he was constantly on the lookout for talent to match his own. At the counter the blond, smartly groomed girl looked up from the telephone long enough to inquire of Sheila what business had brought her hither, to nod absently and shuffle a handful of cards, abstractedly murmuring “Shayne” as she did so. A look of understanding spread over her blond countenance as she ' held a card separate from its fellows and studied It. Sheila wondered what secrets it held. “Brady’s Waiting for you. Third door to the left,” the girl assured her amiably. tt a SHEILA hesitated. “Will—can— Blind Timmy play for me?” she asked. She knew that it did Timmy no harm to be asked for particularly. More than that, Timmy would be helpful at such a time. Brady could scowl and rant, but the nodding of Timmy’s head as he listened for the click of her tiny feet was Sheila’s barometer. Timmy could detect the slightest off step, could indicate that a step had been well done. “Timmy knows me ” she went on timidly. The girl nodded. "Brady's asked for him already. They're both In there waiting. Better hustle.” Sheila breathed more easily. She had one day, hardly that, in which to memorize the routine. Brady would be sure to make it more intricate when he saw her in the offing. She could dance all around i Daisy. In the practice room she found Timmy, his hands wandering over the keyboard, blind eyes fastened on the ceiling, ears cocked for Sheila's footsteps. Brady, a slim-waisted, sophisticated youth, paced the floor impatiently. She knew Brady—a slave driver, but an excellent teacher. He'd work you unmercifully, but you'd have a routine when he finished with you. “Lo, kid," he vouchsafed in her direction and broke into a fox trot, clumsy for all his slimness. Running his eye over her figure In reluctant approval, he grunted, “You are taller than Gleason.” “Sure. But my feet are just as near the floor.” “An’ Gleason Is Roscoe's wife. Remember that. Don’t try to walk away with the act, because you can’t do It.” “I'm only planning to fill in. Bill. Daisy'll be laid up several weeks, won’t she?” “Can't tell. Sometimes those sprained ankles— ’’ i Blind Timmy turned from the ! piano sharply. “Shayne here is a I real dancer. She'll show up Gleason.” | Once more Brady grunted. “Well, we aren't running any marathons. I All we have to do is teach her the routine. No matter how good she is—or how bad—she fills in for Gleason. "And no matter how bad she is—--or how good—when Gleason is able i to dance again. Shayne is through.” "It’s a job, Bill. That's something.” Bill sighed as though he himself were jobless. "You said it, kid. These days. Listen, this is your i first step. The kick off. One two, ! one two. three and four!” He I ceased abruptly. "When and you dance last?" "Five weeks ago.” Sheila an- ! swered ruefully. "I'm due to be ■ lame, Bill, I know that.” n n a SHEILA stood on the floor waiting. It was fine to be back at work again, even though her dream had been Big Time, or a specialty* ! in a musical show. iTo Be Continued!

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

pF AND now, Mlad—with take it easy,! THIS HOLD, WHICH IS "FROM THE. S MAJORS DO NT ICE L ANDIC WOT WRESTLINGA /f ° J?, f { FORGET THAT <( X COULD THROW YOU OVER, MY /AN TRX ‘** s a WEAK. WRIST HEAD AND HURL YOU A DISTANCE J> 1 UKE TO I VoL) DISLOCATED ' > OF SEVENTEEN FEET—TANCY // WAFT THRU [T. SCRATCHING f THAT ? —OF COURSE X WON'T j( TVV AIR) \ ( VOLTR l ATTEMPT IT WITH YOU —/ > "BACK, '-v THE THROW WOULD JAR J J. CV^_^ OUR 1 ( P -> ( YOU ALL UP AND "BREAK /TV)* Ht-AO \j L jjf | SyC | Mil I STRENGTH wo.u.iPFT \ . y~~i l j ;Y\ VT'" /-*T ! / i 'J 833 rr HEA SEHVICC. INC. \V* V*T ! **' \ \ f \ < } \4J - I J

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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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Mighty fingers closed upon the vicious dog's throat. Tarzan rose, struck the clawing body once, and cast it aside. At the same time a voice from the open door called: ‘'SIMBA!” There was no response.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Repeating the call, the man came toward the tree. Tarzan saw he was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow in the uniform of a Red officer. The apeman withdrew into the tree trunk's shadow as the man, still calling the dog, came closer. \

—Bv Ahern

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OUT OUR WAY

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THAT \TH \IERV THIMPLE. FIRE f K'TTft THE CATHIE GUARDTH, AND LET THEM ) \ V*\ /V / / W HU\ GO TO WORK ON THE FARMTH. THEN J \, , H\R£ THE CHORUTH GIRLTH TO ?£ 7 , y/ \ FOR SRAINWORK ? . , ... CTMIE I.UABPTU. _ A.. ,C Ofr .. 1-nl B. HCA 1.

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The Red did not see the savage beast, crouching now, awaiting him. When he was within ten feet, like Sabor springs to the kill, Tarzan leaped for him. The speed and weight of his body hurled the Red to the ground.

T/JsatopeDv- ' ■ aJATS that OGwsgy ) '//'' uy...OOES NUTWIN’ Vs-TL'-Jr'ic ?UT ROAW TUE V g 1933 BY HiS SCRVICC. g"BEG U. 3. BAT, OFT, j '' !Jr Vy

UP |H e IM3 BY NL* SCRVICC INC. BtO U3. B*T. Off S

Powerful fingers prevented an outcry and a moment later Tarzan had accomplished his purpose. Quickly he stripped off the fellow's clothes, bound and gagged him. Ten minutes later in the officer s uniform, Tarzan boldly walked down the street.

—By Williams

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

PAGE 13

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin