Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 226, Indianapolis, Marion County, 30 January 1933 — Page 13

JAN. 30, 1933

SPorusuriM

nrnis hfre BHni.A BHAYNE, rinncrr Is disoh* reed from n' , pjav because MARION RANnOLPI' the star, it Iraio'i* of her. RMella irrhes for work ai.rl finally s*curea a cart In a m . ileal show soon to o on tour DIOK STANI EY, rich and vxuallv Dromment asks her to aive un this Job and marry him. but Sheila ref ; ! <-s Her Idea of marnaye u a heme in some a'.tle tonri far from Broaduav Sheila is friendly with JIM BLAINE • bother artrr In the company from hleh • he was discharged When Jim offends Miss Randolph finite unintentionally, she asks CRAIG ABBOTT, who is baekIne the show financially, to discharge Jim . . , Abbott tired of Marlon and her demand* goes to see Jim and through him secures an introduction to Sheila A fey davs later Sheila hears that Marion la nut of the show. . _ . „ Abbott takes her to tea and offers her the part Marion had Sheila savs she does no' want it. Then Abbott asks her to marrv him. Sheha refuses knowing Abbott la not in lore with her. A few davs later the road company out on tour. Shfila becomes fripnalv with JAPPY a chorus nrh NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-POUR THE road tour of the Heigh-Ho company was proving successful. They visited small towns and larger ones. They found appreciative audiences and dull ones. Ail things considered, however, the tour had been doing well. The show was making money. Few other road companies had as good a record. Sheila's specialty dances (there were four from first curtain until closingt always won repeated encores. She was a favorite with every audience and Fletcher, the company manager, had allowed her to order new costumes for the “May Day number and the little dance in which the spotlight that shone on her varied from red to green to blue. In one of the larger cities McKee, the comedian, surprised her. “I know a lot. of people here,” he said. “Plavrd here in stock years ago. There's a Mrs. Raymond—one of the social celebrities —who is giving a charity dance. “She asked me to come and bring along someone else from the company. I wonder if you and be willing to go and do your ‘May Day' number?” “Why, of course. I’ll be glad to. “Good. It’s 525 in your pocket,” McKee explained. “Mrs. Raymond’s a good sort and it’s her charity—not ours.” Sheila nodded. “I can use the $25.” she said. For two days she looked forward eagerly to the night of the charity dance. It was to be a glimpse, close at hand, of the life that to her seemed the most attractive in the world. o tt tt night came but It didnt, JL somehow, quite reach Sheila s expectations. In Mrs. Raymond s home she found herself in a different world. She was the same age as many of the girls she met there. She looked much as they did, dressed similarly. She shared the same youthful dreams of romance, gaiety, adventure. But Shelia was an outsider in spite of all this. For some reason a barrier existed, shutting her off from these young people. She didn't know how to get around it or climb over it. Shelia remained apart. As she danced the “May Day” number, her feet weaving in and out in the complicated steps, she could hear whispered approval. A i>olite patter of applause at the end clearly showed that the dance had been appreciated. “Good work!” McKee whispered as Shelia took a seat again at his side. He was not performing. Shelia noticed with interest that here he was accepted as a guest. Many people seemed to know him. He moved, easy and assured, among the others. Some of them called him “Ralph,” shook hands and spoke of the days years before when he had played weekly at the local theater. “Well, bow’d you like it?” McKee asked the girl as together they drove back to the hotel. “Would you like to change places with any of those girls?" Sheila hesitated. “It’s an attractive life,” she said. ‘‘l don't suppose they have many responsibilities. I guess they do just about as they please every day and never have to work—” “You should see them after a hard set of tennis.” "That’s not what I mean.” McKee patted her arm. “I know ft, isn’t,” he said. “But you must remember t here are two sides of the picture. Mast of them would give their right eye to be behind the footlights. They envy you, Sheila.” The season rolled on. The play was a success and Sheila was winning recognition as a dancer. Newspaper criticisms of the play always mentioned her name. Sometimes this praise was extravagant. It didn’t make her more popular with other principals in the company, but the manager appreciated it. McKee liked to see her receive pood notices. He continued to invite her to suppers after the show, to show her little favors and give her advice from his long experience. These attentions were always impersonal. Often he talked about his wife and familly. He never tried to make love to Shelia. u u a PRESENTLY the Samper Sisters arrived to join the troupe. Parts had been written into the show for them. It was felt, that “Heigh-ho” needed some new material and the Sampers’ act provided that. The girls dressed exactly alike. They came on the stage with little shuffling steps crooning a song in close harmony that was unlike any other singing Sheila ever had heard. The Sampers were not particularly pretty girls, but they were rated clever. They danced and sang in unison, their voices blending like notes of a violin, their agile steps matching perfectly. They had a dressing room which they all used. They ate together after the show. On pay days one of them always was to be seen scurrying to the postoffice to send money home, holding out only what the sisters would need for living expenses. “How's your beau?" Tillie Samper asked Sheila one evening as they

iwinoV&aa Wl Km rigwt

j waited in the wings for the leading I lady's song to come to a close. “Which one?” “The one you loaned me one evening. Jim something-or-other. He’s i rich, isn't he?” Tillie spoke wistfully. With the exception of Clara, who was married to a vaudeville head- ; liner, the Samper girls had been ; beau-less. “Maybe. But he didn’t earn his money.” Tillie nodded. “That’s all right. Earning money isn’t everything. I think men are afraid of girls who earn good salaries, Sheila. “Maybe they are.” That was another angle of the old argument. Home life or a profession for a girl? Sheila thought about it, but couldn’t come to any decision. She knew that for herself she wanted a home. She was making progress, however, as a dancer, gaining assurance and winning recognition. If she followed McKee's advice, returned to Broadway and landed a part there she might become a star. What would that mean? Only [ that she was farther and farther ! away from the dream of her heart. tt a a ✓"CHRISTMAS week brought the troupe to a large middlewestern city. The week passed almost exactly like any other with two exceptions. It meant seven days in one place instead of two or three brief engagements and it meant an extra matinee on Christmas day. Business in the theater was not particularly good. People seemed to prefer to spend the holidays at home or in the homes of relatives and friends instead of going to the theater. Suddenly Sheila discovered that she wanted to be back in New- York. She wanted to feel the cold North river wind against her cheeks, to hear the bustle of Broadway traffic. She wanted to look at shop windows. to see the twinkling lights in giant office buildings, to drive through Central park and to sit at cozy restaurant tables talking about plays and players with other troupers. She wanted to see Dick Stanley, too. Now that the tour was drawing to a close, Sheila heard from Dick oftener. Yes, it would be fun to be back in New York and see Dick. And Jim Blaine. And Trevor Lane. Sheila thought of Myrt and wondered how life was treating her. Alone one afternoon in her hotel room, she sat down and wrote Myrt a long, newsy letter. The answer came back almost immediately. Myrt was well, married to George now, and very happy. They had moved into an apartment in the Bronx. She promised to come to see Sheila as soon as the company returned to New’ York and Sheila must come up and have dinner with Myrt and George. Well, it was better for Myrt to be married. As the wife of a steady, substantial business man, her future would be settled and safe. Myrt would make a go of it, too. She would buy cook books, shop for bargains, keep her home in order. Yes, she would make George a good wife. The letter from Myrt increased Sheila’s loneliness, made her even more anxious to return to New York. The show played a series of stands in Indiana and Michigan. And then something happened •which restored Sheila’s affection for the road. ( To Be Continued) Rabbit Born Earless R;i United Press HOLLISTER, Cal., Jan. 30.—A rabbit, born without ears but perfectly normal in every other respect, has been sent by W. W. Whaley, rancher, to the University ;of California for study. Four other rabbits of the same little were I normal.

7T6ODK aF BY BRUC£ CATTON

AREALLY good murder story—one that you can read without first suspending all of your critical faculties—is a. rare thing. One of the few writers who can produce this sort of tale is Mignon G. Eberhart, and her newest book, “The White Cockatoo.” is a bell-ringer. To begin with, it has a deeply complicated and honestly puzzling mystery as its core. It provides an authentic atmosphere of horror and suspense. It. is filled with real people, competently characterized and motivated. It is, in short, written by a writer who knows something about writing; you don't find yourself stopping, every fifth page, and muttering, “real people don't talk or act this way,” as you do in most mystery stories. There’s an American engineer who stops at a cavernous old hotel in a little French town, waiting to meet a friend and go on a vacation trip. In the hotel is an American girl who is waiting to meet her longlost brother and establish her right to half of a $10,000,000 fortune. Just as these two get acquainted, sudden death starts popping. A nameless intruder gets poisoned and then stabbed, a porter is shot from an elevator and another man is poisoned and stuck in the grand piano; to complicate matters there's a slinky hotel proprietress, a lot of excitable French cops and a very mysterious and taciturn detective chap. This, in short, is that rarity, a truly good detective story. Published by the Crime Club, it sells for $2. Do you want a day-bed? If you have a writing desk to trade, see I Times Want ads, or call Swap Bu- [ reau, Riley 5551.

OUR HOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

PASSING OUO WOU’T TAKE. J WELL, CAM VOU CAS WEAK AS I CAM \ YOU DOM'tY A.OOX UP THEBE \ (I.AY ME FACE. DOWU,) /% 9 ) /Jit'S) feu-iVU?) I A WATERSPOUT 0S OFF • COMUOOOBE-WE./GET YOUB BEM2IUGS, WAKE OUT ITS CAQWEW S THIN* IT J e>iu.Y BOWLEGS-) IF I DOWT BELIEVETI E>U KUN . WHERE -BROUGHT A. VV ' LL JUST HAVE TO W/UT JSO WS CAU FtWD OUT ISLAWD OFF THE COAST J COULD BE \ WHAT KIND OF / WE’BE EtTHEB ON THEY ABE FOB THE. TIDE. TO TAKE J WHAT ISLAND THIS OF B * JA ‘ BUT I'M Jl TIBUBOkI, / A BIED IS / -s TASSNE ISLAND CANNIBALS.... AND / Tim, -jive , j r.> . s '' oo, °°*—

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

HME DETUNED, COOKIE, To CUT \(DISHES FIT FOR PER O>OPS,Y 8AH 1 . i’M GETTIN' THICK MT OUT THE *hU> WUR.TYTH AMD UVJE IN INoOR HIGHNESS. GREEN \ TIRED OF THE BUM MEAUH TWILENT THRLENDOR. VMOT AM I .—TURTLE SOUP, UNP SPRING YOU BIN TURNIN' OUT/ > s —iWAMING FOR PINNER? 1 M&NVSON STUFFED MIT COOKIE. I WANT THE f TRUFFLES und der breasts / finetht delicatwth in J -rl^ UF MILK-FED QUAIL^^

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

*''^;Siiw*‘ I Disinbutm by Feature Syndicate. <■> V/y*^ .f ‘■‘• ',/ I yPg w* *

Instead of sleep only the vision of the captured Olga came to Tarzan’s brain. He fancied he saw her at the mercy of the warriors somewhere in that dark, forbidding jungle. He growled in anger and self-contempt at what he considered his weakness.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

The ape-man arose, shook himself and swung from his tree to that adjoining. Thus, through the lower terraces he followed the still fresh trail of Usanga s party. Toward midnight, the stench of & native village assailed his nostrils.

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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He guessed that in the village he would soon find her whom he sought. As though stalking a wary prey, Tarzan moved noiselessly about the palisade, listening and sniffing. an overhanging tree he propped into the vfijye.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

From hut to hut he went, searching. The warriors lay all about, in drunken stupor. At last, faintly, he found the delicate scent he sought, hanging a small hut. No sound came from within.

PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin