Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 210, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 January 1933 — Page 11

JAM. 11, 1033

SPOT ugh Tjrr

RF.OIN HF.RF TODAY SHETI.A SHAYNE. 18. *hof parents Wi*re well-known vu<lfvill. actors. Is !n Mew York looking Jcr a ioh Sheila I* a <lar e r j n j,pl;e of the far 1 that she ha- spent almost, her entire life on the at ape, her ambition Is to marrv ana hate a home Use those *he has seen in •mu|] loir :n whi I ha hai played. Or, a few red to take the place Os DAISY GLEASON, another danrer who has sprained an • nkir. Shetla tnc* to JOE PARTS’ office in Tin Pan Aliev'' to rehearse. •There he r-r TREVOR LANE and Dior STANLEY both rich. Lar.e a .ks Sheila to dance at a party be t.tvinp o’ it she refuses knowing tha*. after a dav of rehear ire and the pet formance that nißht she w ill be too tired. . .. She goes to the theater and there meets PHIL SHORT, an old acquaintance. The • how begins and Sheila wins applause with her danone Suddenly she discovers Dick Stanley In the audience. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER SEVEN They advanced toward the footlights, bowrd to the house, to each other, her finger tip in his moist, fat palm. •r Applause, loud, clamorous, Insistent. It broke in sudden gusts, onw here, now there, and rippled over the entire house. Another tornado as Sheila stood still. Was she going to dance an encore? Bowing again, a low sweeping, skipping bow. Sheila ran off to change for the next number. But not before she had seen the man in the front row who still was applauding vigorously. Sheila had seen him! There, in correct evening attire, a strange sight in that cozy little neighborhood house, sat Dick Stanley. He was alone. CHAPTER EIGHT “VTOU aren't angry with me for X coming, arc you?" Dick asked pleadingly. Sheila's voice was level. ‘‘Angry? No. But you shouldn’t have done It.” Now that she knew he cared enough to want, to see her again, she could seem casual. Her heart exulted, but no one, seeing her, would have guessed that. “I thought you were giving a party tonight,” she went on. ‘‘Hamlet with Hamlet left out! Why aren't you at home entertaining jour guests?" Hamlet with Hamlet left out! That was an odd remark for a chorus girl to make. This little dancer in a cheap suit and tiny hat that obviously had seen wear continued to surprise him. "Oh, Trevor's there,’’ Dick responded easily. "Besides, I came to get one of the guests. One of the most honored guests, if she will accept the invitation.” His eyes mocked the humility in his words, but his voice was pleading. Then he changed his tone, as Sheila’s attitude did not soften. “Please come along and sing j’our song," he urged. "Dance, too, if you will, but sing anyway! Those dances you did in the show were knockouts!” The girl’s smile showed that she was pleased. "I'm glad you liked them,” she said conventionally. Dick Stanley moved nearer. “Then you'll come?” He lowered his voice. "I have my car. It won’t take us fifteen minutes to cross the bridge and then we're practically there. I'll take you home whenever you say. Please come!” The evening was over. Sheila had hung away her last costume, had wiped off the last vestige of makeup, had shoved her little hat down over her head carelessly, ,we ri'y. In spite of Miss Kilcoyne’s linament and friendly ministrations, she ached in every joint. Still, most of the company would go back to town on the bus. That meant walking at the other end of *he trip. Phil Short had offered ' Ho see her home. There would be crackers and milk —coffee for the venturesome —at the little restaurant on the corner hear Ma Lowell’s rooming house. They would all talk shop. Sheila loved to talk and listen to talk of the thea ►r. a a a OR if she preferred she might ride back to town in a smooth rolling car such as this boy would drive. If only everyone at the party would make her as welcome as Dick Stanley! Then her lip curled suddenly. The men, of course, would make her welcome. The women would treat ,her coolly. “I ought to get some sleep,” she began uncertainly. "But you can sleep tomorrow! I’ll call for you whenever you say and drive you out. here for the performance, Maybe you’ll lunch with me first.” "Breakfast,” she corrected, without committing herself. Lunch was a rare thing when Sheila was working. A late breakfast and dinner were all she had time for. Stanley laughed delightedly. •‘Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! All word —if you will. Just say the word—but do come to the party! I’ll take you home, you can dress , in a jiffy and we'll be there in no time. We could have been at your house, wherever it is, by now if you'd agreed earlier." She found herself gently urged toward Dick's car. a smart roadster parked on the farther curb. Presently they were skimming noiselessly along the street leading to the bridge. The air. warn for so late at night, gently caressed her cheeks, blowing her hair into disarray. Oh, yes. this was better than waiting for a bus, crowding aboard and swaying lumbering along across town, then down Fifth avenue. "How did you know where to find me?” Shelia asked curiously. "Paris mentioned Bailey's theater. Don't you remember? I looked it up in the telephone directory and asked the way. Simple enough!" Yes, it had been simple. But behind that simple deed lay the wishto see her again. He had not forgotten her In the whirl of other interests. a a a DICK left her at the door. “11l drive around the block.” he said as he helped her out. "and be back in fifteen minutes to pick you up. Is that all right? Time enough?"

KauffJi

"Plenty,” the girl assured him. Instantly she was gone. The dark door seemed to swallow her. The car moved slowly to the corner. Dick had waited hardly five minutes when Sheila—a different Sheila —appeared. In what seemed a very short time she had changed amazingly. A smarter, more sophisticated brush to her hair. Pendulous earrings, swaying as she moved. Brighter lips. Her figure exquisite in an inexpensive evening gown that had earned the adjective “smooth" when displayed to other roomers at Ma Lowell's. How would that dress compare with the gowns worn by Stanley's debutante friends? Shiela vaguely hoped the lights at the penthouse would be softly flattering.' "I suppose you are one of our best and hardest working little play boys,” she hazarded, as with a deft motion Dick Stanley headed the car across the park toward Trevor Lane's apartment house. He seemed surprised. "I? Hardly! I'm a hard worker—that is sometimes I am. The difficulty is, I do hard work which for the moment, at least, wins no acclaim or results." "Song writer?” He laughed. “No. But you aren't so far off. The fact is, I’m writing k play. The great American play! I work afternoons and Sunday mornings.” "A play!’’ Her eyes widened. "But you have money. I thought only poor men wrote plays.” "Starvation in a garret, eh? Well, starvation in a penthouse isn’t much better. Trevor has the money, you see. Os course, I’m not starving, but if I existed on what was truly mine—that is, what I earn—l probably would be. "My father gives me an allowance, rather grudgingly, because I’m not following him in his business in Fall River. Oldest son, you know. He’ll never forgive me, I suppose. “But—’ and Dick’s eyes shone—“l want to write! Trevor was lonely. He's my cousin, you know, and he asked me to bunk with him. Here I am.” "Tell me about the play,” Sheila responded uncertainly. Poor boy—didn’t he know’ that every one wrote plays? The trick was to sell them! Dick laughed. “Oh, that! It’s still in the early stages. But I’ve put in a lot of thinking on it.” a a a THEY entered the little gilt elevator which bore them swiftly to the top of the apartment house where Trevor Lane had his penthouse. Kato, the Japanese boy, admitted them. Sounds of merriment issued from the living room. Someone, a professional Sheila decided instantly, was playing the piano. As she slipped off her WTap in the silken bedroom, there w r as a burst of applause, a murmur of voices. Talking, laughing, gaiety. But even here Sheila could sense the difference between this party and those to which she had most frequently been invited, parties of professional people. Here was luxury. The air was scented rather than laden with exquiste perfume. Silken women, exquisitely coiffed and gloomed with soft, modulated voices. Girls from Dick Stanley’s world! Here in the bright dressing table light her gown looked shabby. Once more Sheila told herself she should not have come. "Ready?” Dick’s eager voice sounded from outside and resolutely Sheila turned from the discouraging reflection in the mirror. Framed in this luxury, she looked and felt badly dressed. Dubiously she left the security of the dressing room. But there was no dubiousness in the eyes of the young man who waited for her. Nothing but delight, mingled with friendliness and joy at the sight of her.

(To Be Continued.) 8Y BRUCE CATTQN 9

“HT'HE LAST ADAM,” by James Cozzens, tells the story of a small town in Connecticut—tells it so well that the day-by-day doings of the town’s undistinguished people seem vastly important and significant. Mr. Cozzens has drawn for us a diverse group of imperfect and very human people; ordinary folk, all of them, doing ordinary things in an ordinary way, but standing, somehow, for the eternal struggle and failure and triumph of the entire race. There is a doctor—a rather slipshod, careless man, getting on in years, drinking more than is good for him, letting his patients die occasionally when another man might have saved them, but Itiving his best, on the whole, and fighting a: least a fairly good fight. There comes to the town a typhoid fever epidemic. The people are frightened, and in their fright they turn on the doctor—who is also the local health officer —blaming him for the epidemic, trying to take his job away from him. The doctor goes unemotionally about his business, and his place is saved, at last, by the machinations of a local political boss. On this slight thread Mr. Cozzens has hung a very moving story. The people in his book—the tired little telephone operator, the rich man's rebellious daughter, the local bootlegger, the doctor and the others—are uncommonly real. Among them, they manage to sum up the aspirations and disillusionments of all people everywhere. Published by Harcourt-Brace, "The Last Adam” sells for $2.50. It is the January choice of the Book-of-the-Month Club.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

CONFOUND ‘BUSTETL AND HIS ACCIDENT -POLICIES SELPOmU ST y LE )§p ff PAY OFF WHEN A GUV VOUFt "BLAST A<==- GO EG BABOON ATM' .ED N\E? K' \ * PAULS DOWN OUT OF TO GET ) i CHANDELIBFtS—OR GETS I',! if CRACVCED UP, PASSU N' / NSURANCE j TRY To THIS \ COLLECT ON THAT ACCIDENT iAD { f ‘POLICY OF YOURS,IF YOU J [ HAD A HANG-NAIL ON N. YOUR THUMB ~ YOU'D [g / CLAIM IT INTERFERED s' J HURRYING ° "Dl IN I NCo * —l6 1333 MC. PEG. O, S.

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

f I’M ITCmW T> SET (TIE SEAPLANE' IS/ FINE, BILLY... WE CfJELL, FRECKLES, ) OU.E’UEE, ( OH,THAT’S PETE...RUNS f X TELL YOU,I MUST JUST WASTIW6 STARTED... 1 WONDER ON BOARD AN' ) VJONT BE SAILING EVERYTHING . / BOWLEGS*BUT, A TUNA BOAT OUT OF ©WILE SEE COMMODORE ORMSBY,. J Youß TIME, TRYING IF WE ACE ABOUT \ . TIED DOWN, SIR..LUNTIL H!6H TIDE = SUIT YOU,SO f SAY, WHO WAS FISH HARBOR... HAS A IN THE WY INVENTION WHL MEAN JTo SEE HIM = HURRY (7* READY To PULL r , EVERYTHING 1 ABOUT FOUR i_ FAR “2 J THAT BIG FELLOW FINE; STRAPPER OF A ’ SHARKS' A FORTUNE To HIM ...I'M /UPAND DPINk YOUR. SL,’ % OUT? I SHIP SHAPE- 07 O CLOCK! g /U WHO TOOK AWAY DO-WHY DON'T YX) RUN DESPERATE, L J CL, U AY-AY' J|L sS l -THAT MAN WHO OVER AN' SEE HIM? YOU CABIN, TELL YDO... , JgL OF HE * E "* ** id )jj ~ \ j WANTED TO SEE HAVE TIME... HIS BOAT IS PETE AND if? DESPERATE / _ '•ljw ‘ ms So.

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

POPIVIER *' MONIA V I ATTEMD THEN AUI. 6EE Ulizl CAW'T A FEUA.N VJANTS A LJAPER ON THE 7 RONE,/ TO BUSINESS- fpfflj PON'T / HAVIE Ik GOOp TiMC? ALL MY NOT A COURT JESTER. AS A jjjtf WOT THERE Jmugmm A-iAKE l UFE, EASY, \ gIM f\ NOBODY.

SALESMAN SAM

'sph! ujhpTs The idea,A ( fr-ah -1 attenoe.d a A'll ©eXcha "IHaTojas hunmie.") { hamen't been fp.NO cohen swe she. N CODIN'-TO WORK SO OJEODING- BOON'S OUEDDING - OIHO 010 V lO FIGC-ER IT UJHS WITH A DIFFERENT J TH'CEReYION-/ . SHE.I MPSRRN, SAY>? i/ouT, BOSS-SHEL oUENT ALTOG-ETHER I ~ Q \ TH' onTH QUVTb AN OLD |MWU cfUtrA/2-

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

ii Y . tVK>! ft; ■fcfvsfr A I'flhk ~-W y'setter rawat i.* igPMSllWll Mp-ft ' Hit —. -WS.W6 YWotSEIOVIKaI gTZ tfxiHY' 3 4 ,v7i' ) ' miwxßtviww 111 i OH Wotm l BOOT‘S| I -Jmfkmm

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

I **^- fcl | I Copyright. >932. by Edgar Rice Burroughs. line.; j3osv

As Olga, wide-eyed, watched the death struggle she heard with horror the low growls coming from the naked giant's lips. fKarzenoff was trying to reach his foe’s throat with his fingers, while, horror of horn -s, the girl could see

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

the ape-man was searching for the Red's jugular with his teeth. Redoubling his efforts to escape, Karzenoff succeeded in breaking away and leaping for the window. But Tarzan was too quick for im. Before the Red could reach it —;

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

/ X ONW WANT A \ VAJhW,! SHOULD \/ 1 OONIV CAPEII little.,ma . be. Tv-xepe. Rigbt \ / i'm not” goikig-'To j tit BE LATE'. KIOW.TO OPEN j BE OVER A OiSvA X Promised to twv - anio J Pam at all hoops, \ - MEET ELLEM AT V X CANT GO i THAT'S FOR DiGHE/S.’ 1 GEVEM.AM- j \uiae. voo ©Pommels \ \ pUST J : SHOOID TVUMK' fO \ L ® ’M3 BY NE* SEPVICE. INC BORM THIRTY WEAPS TOO SOON. WO U. PAT OFF, I-11 J

r/ 1 BIM LIMIN' ON SCRAPS-SLEEPIM’Y) C i'M A PRINCE*. I GOT MONEY j Y 1 UNDERSTftNP? /IN 60YES- RIDIN’ ON FREIGHTS- ] CASTLES. EVERYTHING ANYBOCN ) LADPIE. JUST A / FIGHTIN’. MY GOSH! I'M SICK OF I COULD EVJER. WANT! DON'T YOU * / PRINCE FOR A BEIN’ KICKED AROUND. I WUNTA J SEE? I GOTTA ENJOY 'EM WHILE J DAY. SURE — V LAY E^CK , N , ENJOY LIFE. S I CAN —'CAUSE WHEM WIUY A HA\)E A GOOt> V AN' NOW’S MY CHANCE./ i N\LLY COMES BACK, I'M A y > N — ——■— HO6OPV fr&ftl

( — 7 —; \ iUJSfi n ‘ IAT.BB'c 10 PXI'IML *°23 • \O2HWWI OUT K OT 11 -102.5 102.6ANNYWLE Vi'GXN'c 'VZ 1027 __J | l '' - TO I~V - . '^

he was jerked back and hurled across the room. There, Tarzan grasped the wretch by the throat and drew his hunting knife. “Thus you slew my mate,” he hissed in a terrible voice, “thus you shall die!” “I lid not do it; she is not ”

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

was the Red s last gasping cry. Then Tarzan turned toward the girl, saying: “Give *me my locket.” She pointed toward the officer, who had fallen to the floor unconscious. “He has it,” she replied. Fo*- a long time Tarzan stood looking at her before spoke again.

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosse?

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin