Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 230, Indianapolis, Marion County, 3 February 1933 — Page 19

FEB. 3, 1933

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RM.IN HERE IODAT SHEILA SHAY.VK. rlisrsrrd from a nr‘ Dlav M?RtON HANDOITH the afar, it kalO'iA of hor. Bhr i .rarchr* for work and flna’ilv ‘r ;rrs a part ir. a musical show *opn 'o po on four. DICK -STANLEY rich and socially tveminr-nt asks her <o give up this ioh *f>d marr hlrr. but Bh<>ila refuses Her loan of marriazr is a home in a little 3t*n far from Broadvav. The comoai.v sets out on fheir tour •’ and Sheila he, m< fr>ndl- .th JAPPY. chorus turl. In a little mldwestern city Sheila inert- JERRY WYMAN, who works In a factory She does not know that Jerrv's father ■ owns the faeior- Jerry Is verv attentive and Sheila finds herself failing in love w;*h him W en the rest of the comnanv departs. she r.favs on to sner.d Stuidav with Jerrv. She is disappointed because he does not cojpe to se her off at her train, aa he had nronu-ed to do JNOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (Continued.) Ho laughed when she tried to balance her plate on her lap, brought, her water in a paper cup to serve as a finger bowl, dried her hands on his huge handkerchief and then abruptly swung himself beside her. As abruptly he kissed her. ‘'Do you love me?" he whispered. Two bees were circling about the remains of the cake and Sheila fastened her eyes on the abandoned Improvised table. “You know I do.” “Sure?" His teasing blue eyes held hers now. “I'm sure—but what will your family say ” “What ran they say, darling?" Even as he kissed her again. Sheila felt a little coldness about her heart. He had evaded the question. AH that week he had evaded any reference to his family. She did not know anything at all about them. To be sure, his manner, his clothes were irreproachable, but that told little. She recalled some of the leading men she had known in the theater. Occasionally one saw a humble father, an overworked little mother, with confusion and pride blending In their faces as they watched their hahdsome son. Sheila was an aristocrat in her own sphere, but it did not matter to her from what stratum in society Jerry came. She loved him and that was enough. a tt u HE had said, “What can they say, darling?” Later he said, “They don’t need to know'.” She was inexpressibly hurt at that. Jerry had implied that his family would look down on her because she earned her living on the stage. It was not that he had said those words. Had he put it bluntly, it might have been easier to bear. “■But,” she faltered, “they'll have to know some time, won't they?” “Please, Sheila—why should we bother about my family? Let's just think about us.” There he was evading questions again. It did seem as if he would want to tell her about himself just as -she had told him about herself. “You've never mentioned a beau," he panted out once when she was talking of rehearsals, Ma Lowell’s rooming house, her father and mother, her early life. “Ive never had a beau.” What Sheila wanted to say was, “I’Ve never been in love before,” but she did not say it. Somehow. it, did not seem quite the admission to make. 41 dusk he brought her back to "the hotel. This disappointed her.. Ho originally had planned that they should dine together somewhere and ride through the moonlight, arriving back in town much later. * “I'd like to, but I'm tied up at home,” was his apology. “But I’ll see you again?” Sheila spoke timidly. For answer Jerry tilted her head back, holding his finger tip to her chin, gazed mischievously into her eyes and kissed her. “Surest thing you know. I’ll phone you about noon.” He did not phone about noon. Sheila’s train left at 1:20. She packed, called a cab, and W'ent to the station alone. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT JAPPY was sympathetic. “Cheer up." she said. “The ‘city slickers’ aren't the only ones we - girls have to watch out for.” The remark was well meant, though scarcely tactful. Sheila had reached the theater after most of the others in the company. She found that, as usual, Jappy had appropriated half her dressing room. Her trunk was there. Jappy had opened it, taken out. the costumes and hung them in order. Sheila told Jappy the whole story how eager Jerry had seemed to have her remain in Spencer for the week-end, but how little it apparently had meant to him. He hadn't even said good-by. “Something may have happened. Sheila. There may have t been a reason why he couldn't call,” Jappy reminded her. “But if he loved me—’’ The other girl gave Sheila's arm a comforting pat. “He loves you," she assured her. “He asked for your address, didn't he? Give him time to explain.” Sheila gave Jerry time. Days patfccd. They stretched into a week nn<j still no letter came. Then, by a sudden juggling of engagements, the' company’s routing was changed, bringing them within 100 miles of spencer. Somehow Jerry Wyman must have learned this. On the first night of the new engagement, he was waiting at the stage door for Sheila after the. performance. Again life was rosy. Sheila w'as so happy she gave Jappy a hat which the'other girl long had admired. The fact that Jerry had come to see her seemed to prove that he really cared for her. Every letter Sheila wrote to him meant, a hea r t-breaking wait for the answer. Jery would dash off a brief note alter three of Sheila's long, newsy letters. “But that's your own fault, don’t you see?" Jappy would explain patiently. “You shouldn't write so often. That would show him!”

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| “Men never like to write letters,” Sheila answered defensively. “Your friend Dick writes often ienough. That was true. Dick Stanley wrote frequently—long, entertaining let- | ters. Sometimes they came twice in the same week. Always in the thick vellum envelopes he liked. “Dick enjoys writing. It’s easier for him.” “I know.” a tt a BUT this explanation did not cheer Sheila. Each day that j she did not hear from Jerry was dreary and lonely. Half a dozen times a day she would ask at the hotel desk or call the theater to see if mail had ari rived there. Then on days when there was a 1 letter she seemed a different girl. At times Sheila thought it was almost worth the heartaches to experience such happiness. At last the “Heigh-ho" company reached the city farthest west on the tour and headed again for New York. Each day now was taking Sheila farther and farther away from Jerry, from country lanes, brick factories, little model homes and all the places where she had been so happy. The night came when the com- | pany gave its last performance on j the road. McKee, the comedian, gave a party in which he invited | the entire cast. Sheila did not go. She wanted to pack, to get everything in readiness for the next day, when they would arrive in New York. Daybreak found them in the city. ! Sheila telephoned to Ma Lowell I from the station. Yes, there was a I room waiting for her. It was larger j than the old one, too. That was fine! Sheila had saved some money. She expected to find a job fairly soon. McKee had mentioned a night club that paid well. As she rode up Eighth avenue in a cab, her baggage piled about her ! feet and Jappy beside her, Sheila : was happy. "It's great to be back, isn't it?” Jappy said. Sheila agreed. It was June. | .Jerry was coming in August to | spend his vacation. There would be two months in which she would find another job. But theatrical jobs, she was to find, were scarce. Now that summer was ahead, even the supper clubs were not taking on dancers. Sheila had been in town only two days before Dick sought her out. He was hard at work, he said. Yes, writing a play. Anew one now. He must have noticed a change in Sheila’s manner for he said, "You don’t like me any more, do you?” “Os course I do. What makes you say such a thing?” a a a BUT when he spoke about seeing her again, Sheila was evasive. Jim Blaine telephoned a few nights later. He was going to Chicago to sing in a musical show. Trevor Lane gave a party and Sheila went, arrayed in her best, her heir done in anew and becoming way. In spite of admiration and attention, she could not be cheered. Jerry had not written for more than a week. One afternoon, when the search for a job. as usual, had been fruitless, Sheila hesitated between spending money to see a vaudeville bill or dropping in on Blind Timmy at Joe Paris’ song shop. She finally decided to call on Timmy. She found him in a practice room and he welcomed her warmly, pathetically glad to have her call. Timmy had moved from Ma Lowell’s several months before. He could not afford the luxury of his former room there. “Written any new songs?” Sheila asked. For answer Timmy ran his fingers over the keys, began playing a melody. "That's lovely,” she told him. “Will you let me sing it?” Timmy’s face shone. “Will you, Sheila?’ "If I can. I haven’t a job yet.” “Sing it at a party some time. See if it goes over,” he urged, and she promised. It was several weeks longer before a job materialized for Sheila. Then she had a chance to fill in with a partner at a smart supper club. Dora Rodney, who danced with her brother, Ted. at the Club Volens became ill and Sheila agreed to take her place. Ted was a supercilious young man who thought no one his equal. Sheila danced with him one week and then another. Tec! and Dora received $l5O a week. Sheila was paid SSO. That was fair enough, however. Alone or with a partner Jess well known, she could not have won an engagement at the Club Volens. a a a AT the end of the two weeks, Sheila's finances totaled S2OO. j It was enough to tide her over the rest of the summer. Instead of saving all this thriftily, Sheila bought some new clothes. She wanted to look her best when | Jerry Wyman arrived. She was glad that she had so many friends. It would be nice to appear popular before Jerry. She could take him to one of Trevor Lane's parties and introduce him to actors, playwrights, and others whose names were well known. She would show him the most entertaining supper clubs. August arrived, but with it no Jerry. Even his letters had become less frequent. Sheila went back to the Club Volens to dance with Ted Rodney. “Will Dora’s Spanish costume fit you?” he asked her. “I think so," Sheila turned to him, | conscious of two things—that she looked well and that Ted never could be induced to say so. . “Scared?” She knew enough to answer this truthfully. “Yes. Aren't you?” j “I always am lately for some rea- | son.” (To Be Continued)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

W /a.'JDflAir 3 '/ WHATP-YOUR TEETH?- W V O r ' V/HY, YOU'RE AS RALE AS A I* "ft. ligp\ BOWU OF RICE,— TH' U I i? I JUST HAPPPMED TO ? T3LOOD tS’FA'DiNG PROM *%_ #/ KAViA-nd:r^ bN&D / ( YOUT? NOSE "RIGHT NOW- Z S 4 V-J looks like a U UT> IN the CWUS T A GOURD IS ? O BT *° I fFfil what's TH' J 4 IN TO PLAY KELLY POOL-V 6J <L MATTH ~7-t. VES-OH AAY WORD- IplJ

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

6EE-I DOLT GEE )ME kjE-ITHEpA f I THOUGHT WE \ ( LOOK, BILLY// )( BY THE BOKJE3 OF THE. TEW l ™ YOU THINK \ WELL, THEY 4 'ftTOM BEHIND A COCK 4 A SIGN OF ANY- \ COME. ON, LET'S COULD FIND FOOT- V AN ARROW/ 1 ( TINKERS !! THAT'S WHAT THAT Y IT WAS MEANT ) AIN'T SUCKIN' HIGH ABOVE THEM A THINS THAT COULD J MOSEY ON PBINTS ALONG /j 1 WHEBE DID THAT J l HISSING NOISE WUZ THAT WE 4T, FOC TT ABOUND JUST SEJ2 | WATCHES HAVE MADE THAT V —, THE BE * CH J COME FTOM ? f \ HEABD-A POISONED A®' u ? FOB TH’ LOONS HISSING NOISE/ J I' \ _ 'v- ACCOW TOO/ I’LL / V / OF’THIMGS - AN’ ' ~ S 'V XVN LAY TO THAT// J XT NEITHER AEE -v, "

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

'•PMPtMONIAM TREASURY ROBBED!^ ■SWEET JUMPING. BIA7..ESi BUT V” SURE , LAST NIGHT DOUGH. IT VJAS WILLY WILLY'S The money was there LAST NIGHT.) there was millions aw' TH' GONERNMENT’S. I'M , v of dollars, today- only th’ guy 'at's res?on- \ ' ( NOTHIN'! NOT ONE cent! SIBLE FOR \T. AND NOvW~ | V \T's th* biggest rob’RY now vt's - - oh, easy, wot'll 1 i JZ '‘ z ' ,z

SALESMAN SAM

■ SQU WU , LL )^,u A 4 GCO S£D X BoSl TttKe. \(oh,Sou f C RE-Fuseo Ta UOGK at (A& fERW ) \ LoTTA TH&T PERFUneRJ/OM j/WITH Th COIOOOj ( CALLED OM HER. WHEW SHe/S. UIHAT OIDSHE DO? ‘ RglcTC o' TTh' < I CALLIN' ON Th’ is G-eTTiN SERIOUS IUASN'T LOOKIN’. I KISSED J - -V ,r SPACE.

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

f\ w\ ; \ r \ ' |fj &JT—?ilf4t 0t CWfEPJY.

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Watched by Olga, the apes commenced to move about restlessly. Presently the drum settled into a heavy rhythm, to which the apes kept time with measured tread and swaying bodies. Slowly the mass separated into two rings.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

The outer one was composed of shes and the very young, the inner one, of mature bulls. The former squatted upon their haunches while the bulls moved slowly about the drum, all now in one direction. Then a new sound came faintly to G&a s ears,

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

Tv-mew'vl_ mtKJvK 4 f tT*= =,teal.im'\ ■ v4 '" r A AuTo | JcS Tt-V TvAQOvmED out ©v ' CAUL \T GhP'N' f GAV4G“>T<c.C?S am' T’ LV_ tP WOO VAj AMTI jj ‘ X TO INVJEC,TGATE Am' X GET A \\'/ * LLV -‘ SA - MO— X Ji<E' ; Rtoe \T v_V_ 8E N \ X UA\D OOVNM TO ©EST VHEAE. I GMGN To U AY (/ \ FROVA WAlKm' SO FAR AM’ \ MoT ©TOVEM , \\ \]kj, I '• • Tv-AES ' LL Give me a Rid© GHPFD as VOO /\\ YM/y .\\ VW/j/.J.fel I ' mTo TOVNM. " 'ETealim," I CAV.L IT. J \ji y/ ' i V \ Vslv4€ - Re DO NOO GtT 'AT SToPF V >’ T XYi 'I /I til/ \ its JOST GyP N1 j \ V / Il |J t - "The, 010 fashioned GoY wf.g u s pat, orr.f' i by nea service, inc. J

r SURE GOT TO DO SOME- X / IT’S AvOFUL'N f MAYBE I TRY. TRY ANYTHING. ONIT' thing, popner. vt's r it>s like a can stall \ help me. please' this vs PAYDAY AND FOLKS ARE HORKIBLE NIGHT- 'EM OFF A J Th’ WORST JAM OF MY LIFE/ ; .WAITING FOR THEIR MONey^/MARE. 1 NEVER 1 FEW DAYS./ EASY. I’M DESPERATE. IF J HAD ANYTHING X I NEEDED A FRIEND... (7T) jaMfo / l so terrible / , it-s noiaJ. ME . fe y- - H.G orT. O i.na ev ... service, iwc j A r J

. : s, 7 ; ; a ILL HAYT A 'SAG Ylßt TRATG WHAT TV4 WORWINiG m ~ " Bto U S PAT OfT■

From the direction of the village she had escaped came a weird and high-pitched cry. The effect upon the apes was electrical! They stopped, standing intently listening a moment. Then the hugest fellow raihd his face to the heavens. f *

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

In a voice that made the girl shudder, the ape answered the far-off cry. Again, the beaters drummed, the slow dance went on. The savage ceremony held the girl spell-bound. For a half hour the k drums’ cadence gradually increased. v

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—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin