Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 208, Indianapolis, Marion County, 9 January 1933 — Page 13

JAN. 0, 1033

bh;is i! frf tod tv SHEH.A .SJiAYNE, 18. * hos* parents Were i'i!-Kno# , n VRurieviUe actors, IS Jn New York looking lor ft Job. Sheila Is a darker. In ;,o;lo of the fact that she has •oeiit almost her entire life on the age. hei ambition is lo marrv and have ft home like tv, /' <,;(> has seen In small town* In which sne has niaved. . On a Jew hours notice she Is hired to take the niace of DAISY liLEASON. another dancer, who has sprained an 4 I In lin Ran Al’-v to r-t.ear e There the meets TREVOR LANE and DICK. STANLEY to h r. h. Lai.e ; ■ Shcna to dance at a cartv he v ■ ;rg hit she refuses knowing that afo r a dnv of rehearsing and the l- .form.ii.ee that night she wills be too tired. NOW DO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER SIX (Continued) •Well. $75 is $75. but a job is a job. too. And, for a while at least, Sheila had a job, She had three numbers—the little eccentric dance, for which Bill had trained her so ruthlessly, a tap , dance during which his well-shod ’foot and Timmy's head had nodded brisk approval, and a singing number, the steps for which Bill had said might just as well be improvised. Daisy's costumes might be a little short, but they would do. Sheila had brought her own hose, her own slippers. No. there was nothing she had forgotten. a a a LEAVING the subway she took a / trolley car and after making two transfers arrived at the theater door. It was barely 6 o'clock. She had time to eat and make up, to tay nothing of resting a little. She would have time also to become acquainted with the other members of the company. There would be Roscoe’s band, Lottie Blair *nc’ the other specialty numbers. Peri laps she knew some of them already. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that Thil Short was with Roscoe now? He had played the saxophone with £ radio orchestra on a commercial program. Yes, she was certain Plul Would be there. Sheila hoped the other dancers would like her and not regard her With that suspicious jealousy so freciuently shown other members of ' their own terpsichorean band. The Dancing Doyles were nice, though. She had met them on a bill in Atlantic City. Roscoe, a rather fat, harassedJooking young man with a baby face and pleasing smile, met her at the stage door with a great shout of relief. Roscoe already was dressed for the act. His careful tie and beautifully cut clothes bespoke a successful season. •'So you rot here! That’s great,” was his greeting as he wiped a perspiring face and tucked his handkerchief into a pocket before holding out a hand in greeting. “Sure,” he W'ent on, ‘I know Bill phoned you were coming, but there’s many a slip between Bill’s Kay-so and a personal appearance nt the theater. It’s great to see you.” Sheila smiled and passed along. Roscoe, whom she scarcely knew by sight, had greeted her as an old friend or—as indeed she was—a life-saver. By tomorrow night he probably would call her “sweetheart.” That wouldn’t mean anything either. Roscoe never would attempt to get fresh. His friendliness showed simply that he appreciated her quick work in learning the routine and that he recognized her as a trouper. At the door of the dressing room, Roscoe, who had caught up with her, confirmed Bill's rather sketchy ideas about her salary. "We'll need you for six weeks, anyhow,” was his comfortable assurance. “Maybe longer. Depends on how the kid's ankle behaves. Then maybe I can work you in with iny other band.” “That’s great. Roscoe. About the other band, I mean. I’m sorry about Daisy.” “Yeah. Tough break.” He waved room. “You’re no prima donna, I behind him toward a dressing hope, Sheila. Have to put you in with the rest of the girls.” He regarded her anxiously and Sheila's heart leaped. Thou he did regard her as somebody and was spolgizing for placing her In an unstarred room! “That’s all right, Roscoe. More fun anyhow during the waits.” He breathed a trifle easier. “Bill aid you were a trouper.” ana WITH this compliment ringing in her ears, Sheila pushed the door open and entered the dressing room. It was long, wide and mirror-lined. A wide board at light angles ran along the walls and formed the dressing tables. Chairs were set at intervals in front of it. their backs hung with cretonne pockets. Some spaces were empty, others crowded with paraphernalia of the professionpowder pufls, curling irons, powder cans, rouge and cold cream pots, tins of cosmetics, even spools of thread set in orderly rows. Lottie, who was "dressed like a Watteau shepherdess gone Ziegfeld.” as she expressed it, sat in a rocking chair working at some embroidery and chatting affably with the feminine member of a kid act who had not, Lottie later confided (rather needlessly), been a kid for almost thirty years. Lottie greeted Sheila languidly and presented Miss Kilcoypne, who smirked and bobbed her curbs in what was meant to be a nursery curtsey. Out in front. Sheila reflected, Miss Kilcoyne might seem to a not-too-critical audience “cute.” High falsetto baby voice, curls, large, blue-lidded eyes, vacant stare and sassy swing of her brief starched skirts. The act probably was a dud. Most of them were. Miss Kilcoyne. apparently reading Miss Shayne's thoughts, began explaining to Lottie in a querulous voice that she personally thought she was too old to , play kid parts, but Roy liked her in them. She continued to quote Roy's opinion at length. Presently the girl’s husband ap-

| pcared, wearing velvet Fauntleroys, I to borrow some cold cream. He, too, was past the age when he need fear the Gerry Society. Later, however, Sheila was forced I to admit that, as kid acts go. this | team was not bad. Not good either, ' but acceptable in small time : houses. The Kilcoynes were good scouts and she was to see them frequently at supper. a a a MOVING about, trying on Daisy’s costumes which she found hanging against a sheet on the farther wall, Sheila tried not to groan aloud. Her muscles were crying out in torture. How could she possibly go on? Os course she could. That was the thing to do. Sooner or later the soreness would disappear. But as she moved from the wardrobe to her dressing chair she thought she could not bear it. Every step and every movement was agony. “Stiff?” asked Miss Kilcoyne, watching her sympathetically. “Out of practice? Yes, I know. Listen. I've got some liniment. That is, Roy has it. Lie down over there (indicating a cot) and I’ll give you a rub before you go cn.’ “Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to,” Sheila protested feebly, but Miss Kilcoyne was firm. She switched busily out of the room and the girls could hear her tapping at the other dressing room door, murmuring instructions. She returned presently with a large bottle half full of brown liquid. “I’ll have you feeling better in no time,” she insisted. Miss Kilcoyne indeed was skillful. The small hands held a strength that was surprising. Sheila relaxed under the gentle yet firm manipulation, her muscles shedding their weariness with every stroke. “That’s fine,” she sighed softly, relaxing. “I’ll do something for you some time. Honestly, I will.” “I know what it is to be lame,” Miss Kilcoyne was saying, working vigorously, her baby skirts swishing importantly as she moved. “Roy and I used to do an act—” She chattered on, busily. Sheila lay relaxed, half-asleep, grateful. “How long have we, Lottie?” she asked. “Oh, an hour. Lie still.” There was a sharp knock at the door. “Is Miss Shayne there? May I speak to her?” A familiar voice. A familiar face, too, grinning, framed in curly brown hair. “Had your dinner, Sheila? Say, I’m glad you're going to be with us!” It was Phil Short inviting her to dinner. So Phil Short remembered her! (To Be Continued) A[W BY BRUC£ CAITON "PAUL BUNYAN,” by Richard L. A Stokes, described as “a folk comedy in three acts,” gives a swinging metrical account of how the legendary giant of the lumber camps lost his gianthood and became, for a decade, a mere man, subject to all the ills of ordinary mortals. Paul Bunyan comes on the scene first in all his glory. He straightens out the Rooky mountains, paints the Grand Canyon, and then invents the logging industry—crying, “Let thar be lumberjacks, earchawin’ reptyles, tooth-jerkin’ scoundrels, eye-gougin’ rogues.” So, forthwith, there are lumberjacks, built exactly according to his specifications. But soon women come on the scene, and lead the lumberjacks away from the deep woods to the refinements of civilization. Paul Bunyan himself takes a wife; he drinks a magic potion that causes him to shrink to ordinary human size, and presently, instead of being a rip-roaring, lusty giant he is—of all things—an international banker, trying to charm a depression out of existence by repeating honeyed phrases. This, however, can’t last. The long-awaited blue snow falls, finally, Bunyan resumes his gigantic stature, and the rehabilitated lumberjacks march forth again, “hellroarin’ savages, hundreds and thousands uh great leetle men.” Mr. Stokes may not have had perfect success in his task of putting the Bunyan saga into verse. But his stuff is free-swinging and zestful, and more than a little entertaining. Published by Putnam, “Paul Bunyan” sells for $2. Collapse Kills 23 Animals ASTORIA. Ore., Jan. 9.—Collapse of a large dairy barn belonging to Herman Hcikkala killed outright fifteen head of cottle and three horses. Five other cows were injured so seriously they had to be shot. Faulty construction was believed responsible for the barn’s collapse. Sow Bears 20 Baby Tigs ASHLAND. Ore., Jan. 9. —Yep. the depression is on the run. Ray Spencer, local stockman, proudly exhibits a litter of of twenty piglets, which he avers can squeal "ma” to one sow. All save one of the littter thrived and were able to find a dinner spot. Answer to Saturday's Puzzle M-O'NiTißjEiAlLl IS ! A;M!A!R!a| ARI AMa N A A CAR IO E jB^E'jRpCREiNAmEIsI NODE ISiBRANIIc'RE z|qo|nMß| RjAlslspisl PMn I mIPMSC! I r N eJBG E. lEIS E EiSiTIAICiAD,EIDO ; N E-E S II aTteMratJßßlc BE IF IdRiE "NIA MBDrijME l R ONE R A G oBOVjEjN 3R £ L D'sl iGIEIiN EIRA NiTI

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

YOU ARE / LAID (SET UP~TVA"BOTH OP YOuTI If ' OUT LIKE LIMOL’rUM , ( AN' COOL OFF?—PUSHIN6 figi an' l "flopped you in \ > counting, lh-ce a ffl l UESS'N TWENTY StCON^S/ ) X COUPLE OF ELEPHANT'S fli TILLIN'ME WHAT A ) M AHJN<b A PLAY V 1 —Ti 1933 BY NEA SERVICE. INC. / K 8 a~T* ,/

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

SOME FANATIC, I’LL 60 OVER AH' X SE.Z..VA CANTJJ BUT 1 TELL'YOt), I ( THA'S BIGHT, WANTING ME To 6!V£ J AND SEE WHAT TALtC To HIM I! BY THE SEE MR.ORAASBY- TAKE HIM AWAY- )DO THIS TO ( VOUVE BEEN HAVIN' UNCLE HARRY'S HIM MONEY I ) IT'S ALL > US BONES OF THE TEN jj | TS IMPORTANT-. IT PART/ HAD V SUPPOSE// Eg. ABOUT-' f '• I TINKERS,YOU’LL HAVE /l MEANS MILLIONS TO \ / MEANS l A NNLE.I4 A CHANCE — 7, V M TO PILE OVER ME \ / HIM ...MILLIONS-' DO ( MILLIONS-' 1-7 \ body TO Dorr, J <— you hear me "? aiillioms To 80ARP THE \'/ „ /-H" TTTA L AN'IWAT AIN’T f A( ' 1C ,1 I it / y * cur - , ; ~ C

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

HIGH MESS" <3r AVLV HIS CHORUS GIRL ' M/CUARPS(V\EN THRU the streets of the city, MM' gyPECTtNG THUNPEROUS AEPLAUSE FROM A ti v MM* WMM. N '' l

SALESMAN SAM

(\ SUPPOSE OL' nAN nATOR LL cStMtAE. TU (WELL, PIO A (IOHY, ER-NO, tAR.fA^ToRN ( C TtOO BUCKS ) tAeRRY HfA-HA.TH' 6>RONS< 800 AN’ TttEM PAN UP WHEN YA PRE- J He PUT UP ft HARD / oLN-l \ > FRoTT I S FIRE ME WHEM WE HEARS WHAT * SENTEO H(S ©ILL A IN- LUCK STORY ft NO > ' '

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

■ ; : n x WLLL.mvtE UP YOUR j VSV\Y, TFXRTi YOU GO 1 . OT ] Ox COOPSX YOU YLY\S ARE ALL AYNYE— OE COUREE YOHfKV ?1 ' K)OT YOU YOU WON'T 6AY LO _\ " V

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

[copyright. 1932. by Edgar R;'- BurrooeM. Ir.c . i- (A,,,..-

Ivan Karzenoff turned as he heard the door open and close. Seeing the strange officer, he dropped the girl. “Explain this intrusion, Lieutenant,” he demanded, noting the on Tarzan s uniform. “Then get out at once!”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

The ape-man made no articulate reply. But the two there with him heard a low growl break from his lips. It sent a shudder through the girl, caused the Reds face to pale and sent his hand to his pistol. Even as he drew his weapon

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

'/ M-cl-M \_E_T- \NO ,1 DION'! \ VJWT \ / Ricmapo iM-roTMe uP Ao Teu_ her we wag | PARLOR ouT HERE, SHE TtoT T GcinT | ~ TELLimO me ANJ’ THEM P 6 ** “fA BATH ROOM, Ani’ SHE 1 canae. upstairs Amo Passes n there am' goes,, ' ro-r nac > N YAH-HAH HAH-MEH-HEH' , GOT ME INTO A BIG \ A TME~ GOE H, X GOT / J / ARGuM£mT,WITH RKHAPO \ OTAER TH.kjOE To DO 'SIDES, there listendmct \ show in'her beaus she's a to UHe head, when they thin* SHE'S ( .-that, -that little sweet and ladyure 1 UIE#. k. BEG. U S PAT OFF. VNIIHW NAQTHEPS GET GIRAY ta 1933 BY NEA SCBVICt. INC t**) ,

IF4STEAV, THE. PEOPLE ARE ?OP-eS£P NP A GROUP OF FOREIGN NEWSPAPER. AWAZeWENT— SHOCXEP. AND SOME PHOTOGRAPHERS MAKES LIFE MISERABLE. THROW EGGS, AND SOME JEER. LA LAI ZE c , ~ HOTTeST PICTURE I f /c V AME PLAT KEEN LV thS APPOUITED, 1933 by WEA service. if s. PAT, ofK 1 ft 1 ' CANNOT 6E C BACK To HIS CASTLE FAST ENOUGH

it was WTested from him and hurled through the window. Then Tarzan backed against the door and slowly removed the uniform coat. “You are Ivan Karzenoff?” he asked the Red. “What of it?” demanded the latter. “I am Tarzan of the Apes!” replied the ape-man.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

“NOW you know wfty I intrude!” The two before him stood aghast. The girl had recognized him now and knew. her danger. With a quick movement, she reached foR .her pistol.

PAGE 13

—By Williams

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