Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 213, Indianapolis, Marion County, 14 January 1933 — Page 11

JAN. 14, 1933

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RKC.IN RF.lt £ TOIMY SHEILA SHAYSE. *hop parent* were Well-known vaudeville enlertelner*. 1* In New York iooklns lor Job Shelia l a dancer After much diaeouraeemenl, ahe is hired to jubatitute for Daisy GLEASON, another dancer, who haa sprain'd an ankle While rehearxlr.R at JOE PARIS aon* ahop Shelia meet* TREVOR I.ANE and nrr;K STANLEY, rich and aocially prominent Dick urges Lane to Include sheila in the program of entertainment at a partv he is giving ... . She.sa refuse* knowing she will be too tired after a dav of rehearsing and the performance that night However. Dick comes to the theater later and perauades her to come They arrive at the party and Bheiia aing- She meeta several celebrities, including GORDON MANDRAKE, a wellknown producer. Later Dick escorts her home Sheila finds herself becoming interested in Dirk, though she Is well aware this Is foolish NOW BEGIN WITH THE STORY CHAPTER ELEVEN IT was June. Sheila still was playing .split weeks with Roscoe's act. which had not been booked for a solid engagement after all. But split weeks here and there were better than nothing. Sheila solemnly agreed. Dick Stanley approved of the arrangement, because it kept her where he could see her frequently. He would call for her and take her to a late breakfast—often at the Casino in the park among the early lunehers. Then, if Sheila did not have to play a matinee, they would drive through Westchester or out on Long Island, where they would swim and spend leisurely hours on the beach. Then, for days perhaps, Dick would seem to forget her. He might make a flying trip home or to his family’s summer cottage, a palatial a flair of which he spoke in an offhand manner as the “shack.” Sometimes Sheila knew he had engagements with girls in Trevor Lane's Long Island set. Dick made no excuses, asked no questions about how Sheila spent the time during his absences. He just would seem to drop her after a long and ardent rush in which her heart would leap in tumult at his voice over the telephone or skip a beat, when, running down the stairs to greet him in Ma Lowells lower hall, she would see his browned face and broad smile. But there was another side of the situation. Sheila had to add to her wardrobe considerably to appear u - ell dressed for all these engagements with Dick. As Myrt said, it "ran into money.” Os course Sheila couldn’t compete with those rich girls. Dick would have told her that anything she wore was “lovely,” but Sheila knew, Just the same, that sooner or later he would begin to compare her unconsciously with the carefully Broomed girls whom he met in his own set. The comparison could not help but be to Sheila's disadvantage. So she bought dresses—picked up here and there in basements, some touch betraying their cheapness removed by Sheila's own skillful fingers, some bit of handwork added possibly. She bought hats and was fortunate that almost any hat looked well on her. She could wear a basement hat at just the right angle and make it look—well, almost Fifth Avenue. Shoes and hose remained serious problems. Cheap ones just would not do. It was discouraging business, trying to appear in anew outfit every once in a while and at the same time to save money. St tt St THIS morning, attired in a blue linen frock with finely em--1 idiered jollar and cuffs of white, a small white hat pulled down over her satin hair. Dick thought Sheila never had looked so lovely. He looked up from his coffee, smiling indolently. “You certainly madp a hit with Mandrake all right," he Laid. Shiela's eyes widened. “Mandrake?" she repeated, her voice filled with unconcealed amazement. “Mandraxe. Sure. You know you sa whim at Trevor’s party.’’ “Os course I saw Mr. Mandrake. But he didn’t see me?” Dick's eyes twinkled. “He certainly did. Called Trevor on the telephone the very next morning." “I didn't think he even looked my way,” Sheila said, pouring cream into her cup. “He didn't. That's a trick of his. When he entirely ignores a girl, it means she has made an impression. They say Mona Deane cried for an hour after a party where Mandrake devoted himself to her. She said that meant he was watching some other girl with the idea of giving her a part in a play. “Mona is a star, though.” “Yes. Mandrake isn't the only producer with eyes.” Every day thereafter Sheila stayed near the telephone, so that if Mandrake called she would not keep him waiting. ‘Has he called yet?” Dick would ask “He will, just the same. Why only last, night—” It seemed that there had been r party at Trevor’s last night. A stag affair. Again Mandrake had spoken 'of “that clever little dancer." But he did not call, and finally Sheila gave him up entirely. SI a JULY came. Dick was away much of the time now. running in for rare evenings, calling her on long distance from Massachusetts, where his people were summering. Dropping around unceremoniously in the mornings, frequently finding her already out and breakfasting at the Coffee Shop. Long evenings driving in the cool breeze. Dick skilfully weaving in and out of traffic. It was all very pleasant, but it did not keep Sheila from realizing that her situation was none too secure. Os course she had a job, but that job was temporary. Sheila was making enough to pay her living expenses, but she had been able to save almost nothing. And any day now Daisy would be back in the act and she would be through. Daisy had been strong enough to dance for a week or so, but Roscoe had explained that he wanted her to have a good rest at Atlantic City, where her aunt had a boarding house. Sheila talked it over with Phii

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I Short. “Try to get a specialty number in one of the shows opening in September,” was Phil’s rather impractical advice. That would be fine, of course. Any one could have told her the same. But how was she to get such a chance? So Sheila made the rounds of the i agents' offices. A night club job , presented itself with harder work and no more money than Roscoe ! was paying her. The club manager hinted that she would be expected to be nice to paj trons—out-of-town buyers, business men and .salesmen in New York for a good time. “Being nice” officially meant dancing with these men during the waits in the show and eating with them. It saved dinner money, but it was hard on the shoes, And, frequently, it meant accompanying them on further jaunts to vout-of-town roadhouses with distressing and dismaying developments. Sheila declined the offer and remained with Roscoe. She saw more and more of Phil, paying her own checks when they ate together or rode on bus tops through Riverside drive, for Phil diligently was saving his money. Then came the week when Phil, flushing with embarrassment, asked Shiela to shop for him in the infants’ department of a certain store of which he said Mildred had read. ana SHEILA shopped about, getting the best values for the money—tiny socks, adorable little gowns and sternly practical night wear. Phil’s expression as they packed the things together in Ma Lowell’s kitchen was so softened that Sheila was touched. Phil was going home for the great event in August, leaving the show. “Oh, I’ll get a job nearer home. In Detroit, maybe,” was his confident explanation. Later he announced that he already had signed up. He was a skilful saxophonist and they were in demand. “I am going to buy a car.” he i told Sheila, dropping around one afternoon. “A fellow over in Cliff- ! side”—waving a hand in the alleged direction of the Palisades—“is going to sell me one cheap.” Sheila went with him to view the purchase. It waA an old car used until June by a facetious school boy, who had painted it in whitewash with gay quips. There was no windshield, a fact which Sheila pointed out, by Phil explaining that he could eliminate that disadvantage by wearing colored spectacles from the 10-cent store. He ripped the rear seat off to make room for his trunk and his saxophone in its shrouded black case. “No one will steal it, will they?” Sheila asked anxiously. For Phil’s saxophone was a fine one and expensive. “I’ll take a gun. I have to—going through the mountains.” “Well ” She hated to see Phil go. Everybody did. He was a real friend, as well as an experienced trouper. Any one Roscoe might find to replace him would be sure to seem an amateur. With Phil gone, Dick away, and Myrtle in the country the summer roiled on. Roscoe still kept Sheila in the act. He didn’t want Daisy to work, he said, in such hot weather. Other members of the company raised carefully shaped eyebrows at each other when Roscoe reiterated what the heat would do to Daisy. Frank Mason. who played the cornet, put that wink into words. “With Shayne packing ’em in Moody’d be a fool to take Daisj back.” Unfortunately these words reached Daisy’s ears. By late August Sheila was “out” and Daisy “in” again, smiling, a trifle unsteady and extremely lacking in confidence. “I never saw a change like that that didn't blow the other one some good,” insisted Ma. Lowell, a bit mixed in her metaphors. Sheila once more began the round of the booking offices. As it turned out, Ma Lowell’s words were prophetic. (To Be Continued)

(Y BRUCE CAITQN

A MAN driven to destruction by overwhelming force of circumstance. instead of an ambitionmad egotist ready to sacrifice everything to his own lust for glory— That is the picture of Napoleon Bonaparte sketched in "Napoleon,” by Jacques Bainville, a substantial and workmanlike new biography of one of history's most fascinating figures. M. Bainville sees Napoleon as the son of the Revolution. % He was called to power, he says, because no other man in France could possibly save the fruits of the Revolution for the French. Once put in power, he was in the inexorable grip of circumstance; his every remaining art was fated by the logic of necessity. He had become dictator, M. Bainville points out, to do what the nation asked of him; then he had to become emperor to make his position secure. And France expected, first of all, that he would hold the conquests of the Revolutionary armies, especially Belgium; so he had to fight the English, who insisted that Belgium must not be French territory. After Trafalgar, he had no chance of beating England save by his cumberson and expensive continental blockade. To make the blockade work, he had to bend all Europe to his will; and hence came the long series of wars which he could not have won. It is an interesting and enlightening biography, this "Napoleon.” An Atlantic Monthly Press publication, it is offered by Little, Brown and Cos., for $3.75.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

A LOT OF WATER HAS YOU MUST* READ fF I % FLOWED UNDER TH' BRIDGE |§} IT WRONG-1 WASN’T M TtErNILNYBEfRA AN' MANY A TRUCK LOAD OF V DOING A STRETCH { i (CORRECTLV,TH’ X SCOTCH HAS 60NE OVER IT, {( L WAS A NIGHT K CAR'DSArD f SINCE WE.VE SEEN YOU JAKE/T SHIFT DEPUTY IN TH’ ) YOU WERE =A- ‘■‘—TH* LAST WE HEARD OF * / <SOW fHAD CHAR6E / LAID UP TOR ■SHO7 YOU WAS A CARD SAYING J OF A WALL-FLOWER. / SIX MONTHS yOU WtRE ,N J ’ A,L - A TANVC—Y’KNOW, S ON A PATRONIZING home }S FOR. GUYS WHO 1 HPP AILMENT Shf\ industry/ J\ SAT OUT THEIRFINESfy MEDDLING ml I 1 r X A CINCH JOB ‘.A TOCKET jjjjf p ’l NOTHItA^^^ l-'iY Jake **

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

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% For days Tarzan toiled across the roughest country he had ever encountered. The sun beat mercilessly down. Never a sign of living thing did he see. except Ska, that bird of ill-omen, who had followed him tirelessly since

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

t the ape-man had entered this parcned waste. Hungry and thirsty he lay down to rest toward evening, deciding to push on during the cool of the night. Though this barren, terrible country was a totally new experience to him

—By Ahern

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OUT OUR WAY

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he believed he could push safely through into that wonderland about which little Manu, the monkey, had told him. And so he fought on until daybreak when he-found himself on the brink of the eighth awesome canyon

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POOBUC 4 Jpk 4 1933 BY HEA SCWVICf. >*~J

he had crossed. As he looked down into the abyss and then at the opposite side he must scale, misgivings for the first time began to assail him. \ shadow swung slowly across the ground beside him. It was Ska, the vulture.

—By Williams

■ —By Edgar Rice Burroughs

PAGE 11

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin