Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 232, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 February 1933 — Page 11

FEB. 6, 103?.

Brr.iN hire Ton at HHETLA FHAYNE. <S*nr<-r, !* d!*fharsrd from a nw piar b-cayse MARION RANDOt-PH. the far. Is J'-alou* of her Shell* searcher for vork and flnallv aecures a part In a r. latral ah oar oon to so on tour. DICK STANLEY, rich and mkiallv Prominent, arks her ‘o rr.arrv him. but Bhalla re,' • Her Ide* of marrlAtt : a hon.e m a • ■.<■ to n far from Broad--91 V. T’ e companv depart” on the tour and In a httie ter:. cs*v Shelia meet* JERRY WYMAN He seems to be a hard workinit >our.K man with little rr.onev * Sheila is not aware that Jerrv’s father Owns the ta or- ur-.-r' r,e worr.r Jerry Is attentive and Si < lla falls In love AS Ithi him After Hie leaves, however. Jerrv's affe- .... r ~sf. tool. He writes fnfreu .rr.ll v and this make* Sheila Unhappy. Bad: in New York again, she get* a )oh in a i.ly. *• . r. Week'- pass at.rt then ore nlgi.t whl.e danc .* sue sees Jerry aittlnz at a table. He comes -o speak to icr. hut dees r.ot introduce her to the other .n hr. party. , Jerrv te.i- k/., lie has Tied to call her. She does not hehe.r this and refuses to rr.ai-.e an er.cagemei.‘ wuh him. Shrna kocs to room at the home r n the Rampei alstera. who are amo on the star' NOW 1.0 ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (Continued! Tillie laid a tiny, ringed hand on Sheila’s. “Os course we are. It can be done, honey, even in the city. Even in show business. Wait and see!” Shelia left the happy pair at the station from which, surrounded by Sampers, they were to start on their honeymoon. For some reason Sheila felt lonely. She was glad she was to have dinner with Dick Stanley. CHAPTER THIRTY SHEILA’S engagement to dance at Club Volcns came to an end Vnd again she went job hunting. This time the situation was more promising. “How’d you like a part in ‘Sky High,’ my new show?” Craig Abbott asked her. Sheila didn’t think she wanted It. She asked Johnny Harrell, an agent, to try to find her a job in a traveling company. He pursed his lips and looked at her over the tops of his spectacles. •’When you can land a place in a Broadway show, why do you want to do a thing like that?” he asked. •The streets are full of men and ‘women who would jump at the (chance to get a part in ‘.Sky High.’ ” “Maybe. Just the same I don’t Want it.” ‘‘Need any money?’' “No. If I did, I’d take a job I didn’t like.” Jappy was dancing in a vaudeville act playing “the subway circuit”—theaters not far from Manhattan, which could be reached by riding the subway. In her free time, the two girls went shopping together. ‘•Not holding on to your money, are you?” Jappy remarked. “Well, when a girl has only one beau she has to have a lot of clothes. Give her four or five to take her places and one dress wil serve nicely” "Are you referring to Dick Stanley?” "Os course. What's he doing now?” Sheila laughed. Dick was writing a play. He was very serious about it, but Sheila, who had seen a dozen aspiring young authors give up in despair before the second act was finished, w-ho knew how many plays were locked away in safes in producers’ offices —never to be produced —could not show much interest in Dick’s efforts. She wa not even excited when he told her that the title of the new piece was “Red Geraniums” and that she was to play the lead in it. \*‘Oh, he seems to be keeping busy,” she told Jappy. "He’s trying to write another play.” ana MRS. SAMPER called Sheila to the telephone one morning. Someone from Harrell’s office wanted to speak to her. "Can you get down here right away?” asked Johnny testily when Sheila reached the wire. "I want to see you at 11.” Sheila was in the midst of a bath, but Mrs. Samper and Eve helped her scramble into her clothes. She left the house in 15 minutes and reached Harrell’s office at 11:10. It proved to be fifteen minutes before he was ready to see her. Ten minutes later she had signed a contract to play the lead in “Fine Feathers,” a musical show' booked for a long tour of the country. "I can’t understand you,” Harrell grumbled. "I could get you a job at more money right here on Broadway.” “Johnny, you know as well as I do it isn’t what you earn, but what you save, that counts. I’ll save more money on the road.” When Dick telephoned, Sheila told him the news eagerly. He invited her to have tea with him at a famous hotel on lower Fifth avenue. They emerged shortly before 6 to find that it was raining. * "We aren’t hungry now, of course, but let’s go to one of those Italian gardens for dinner.” Dick said. "Maybe later you’d like to see a show.” But dinner, delayed, was not finished until it was too late to see a show. They decided on a movie and rede through Times square in a cab. The rain had cleared and the sidewalks were swarming with late moviegoers like themselves. The electrical signs blinked with dazzling brilliance. "Are you really set on going out with that show?” Dick asked abruptly. "Still determined to keep off Broadway? Oh. Sheila, this vime I can’t let you go! You've got to marry me!” Sheila leaned toward the cab window. “Look!” she said. "In front of that orangeade shop.” a an DICK glanced as she directed. A girl in an expensive, too ornate costume was walking briskly beside a well set-up, distinguishedlooking man. It was Florrie King, the comedienne. and her nonprofcssional husband, Joe Small. No one knew ex,vctly what Joe did. Many hinted that he lived on Flossie’s earnings.

dfeilnvOßLD • —. ./ —: ——>-■*—

i "That’s Broadway!” Sheila said shortly. "Well, I don't like it.” "I hope you're not comparing me with Joe Small,” Dick said shortly. [ "Oh, of course not! I didn’t mean that, Dick. You know I didn't! But it’s what Joe and Flossie stand for. They're—well, they represent everything I don’t like.” “But it’s not all like that,” Oick insisted. "Sheila, if you'll only marry me, I'll prove it to you. We’ll I have a home anywhere you say. Just the kind of home you want!” She laughed. "Provided I don’t want it more than fifteen minutes from Times square. Is that it?” As usual, the argument came to ; nothing. Later, however, dancing t with Dick, matching her careful, 1 graceful steps to his, Sheila wonj dered if perhaps she wasn’t falling |in love with him—at least, a little. His serge-covered arm enclosed I her. His soft voice murmured the I words of the dance tune—the season’s love song—in her ears. His eyes caressed her whenever her glance met his. Their steps matched beautifully. "Blind Timmy wrote that song. Did you know that, Sheila?” Dick asked as they resumed their seats. ■'Blind Timmy?” "Yes, he wrote it last year. Had to sell it outright because he needed the money and I understand he did not get much for it. Now the publisher is cleaning up on it in a big way.” "There, Dick! That's Just what I’ve been telling you,” Sheila said. "That sort of thing is considered fair enough on Broadway. It wouldn't be anywhere else. That’s Broadway for you!” tt an THEY danced again, Dick humming the words of the tender | little love song dreamily. Sheila ; was dreaming, too. She thought of a time to come when she would be mistress of her own home far from Broadway. She would see to it that Blind Timmy should end his days in peace and security. Sheila w r as young and bitter. She had not yet learned that struggle and not attainment is the breath of life for many thousands. Blind Timmy was one of those. Four days later Sheila packed to depart for the road tour. This time she went as a featured principal. She w'as not a star, although there was little difference except in her salary and the billing. Announcements read, "Fine Feathers with Sheila Shayne” instead of “Sheila Shayne in Fine Feathers.” She had six specialty numbers in the now show and liked them all. The chorus was clever and attractive. Skillful dancers Were plentiful on Broadway that year and easily selected. "Don’t be upstage with the girls now', will you?” Jappy cautioned Sheila, as she folded underthings, slid trees into slippers, and folded skirts. "Os course not. My memory is too good.” "So is your heart, honey,” Jappy paused. "I wish,” she said, "it could be a little kinder tow r ard Dick Stanley.” She wanted to ask about Jerry Wyman. Was Sheila’s eagerness to return to the road because it might mean an opportunity to see Jerry again? The show would play in Jerry’s home town, Jappy knew. She had looked up the routing. She wished somehow that she could say just the right thing to her friend. Desperately she tried. "You aren't keeping a little corner in that heart for Jerry, are you?” she said, trying to keep her voice casual. "Maybe it was his sister, Jappy!” "If you see him in Spencer, are you going to be friends again? You know—talk to him, have dinner with him?” "I might.” That was all that was said, but in her heart Sheila knew r she longed to see Jerry. Somehow she would find a way to bring about a meeting. (To Be Continued)

7TRCnK a rw BY BRUC£ GMT ON

ONE of the most depressing books of the winter is “Foreign Policy | From a Back Bench,” by T. P. Con- ; well-Evans. It is depressing be- ; cause of the light it throws on hu- ; man wrong-headedness and folly and the price the world has to pay for them. This book is a study of world diplomacy between 1904 and 1918, based on the papers of Lord NoelBuxton, a British Liberal parliamentarian. It would not be especially interesting on this side of the water except for its revelations of some of the things that happened during the World war. In the fall of 1916 President Wilson was trying to get the belligerents to make statements of their war aims, in the hope that a peace might be negotiated. The German government assented, and made a very liberal offer. It agreed to evacuate Belgium, to surrender to France at least part of Alsace-Lorraine, including the fortress of Metz, to see that Serbia ; got a slice of territory from AustriaI Hungary, ~nd to rectify the eastern i frontiers. The allies, feeling that they were ! winning the war, bluntly refused Ito listen. In desperation. Germany launched her submarine campaign. At the dawn of 1918 the allies made a counter peace offer—embodying almost exactly the terms j they had rejected at the close of 1916. But now the Germans felt that they were winning; so they rejected the offer. The war. in short, could have ended in the winter of 1917. This informative little boc|: is published by the Oxford University Press, and sells for $2.50.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

OF OOITQSP:.B&MTLEY, MY &XPtCI *ND I SUPPOSE: You| T YOU TO ’DOUBT TuliS STOPY. BUT-1 CAM HAD A TRAINED* Jj 6tT AN AWDAVIT TO VERITY ITS VERACITYf * \ CRICKET THAT u 0> AO A YOUNG MAN ,1N A SMALLTOWN OP \ COU ’-' D MtMoß ' zE f] NORTHERN MICHIGAN,I WAS A T&LLORAPHtD S c. % \ AND 1 HAD A PET WOODPECKER THAT I J ™ / \ POUND AS A PLEDGING—WELL.,SIR, /f A II? L TAUGHT THAT WOODPECKER THEt 11 ~A ALPHABET AND MORSE CODE —-TOOK TUPMTn voi ) ME THREE YEARS—AND,DO YOU KNOW. / u/uPkl vm / I COULD LAY A PILE OE MESSAGES IN > / PRONT OP THE WOODPECKER AND P J /WT\

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

U2 0 FSCApn f THAT ’ 5 FUKJNY ~ ME - BEATIKI’ THE. IH f SOMETHIN I*o ME BONL?\ UP THE GULF OF CALI-A w K, ° back hece ** mo w,th AM A l ImEMmkH srv k k, a memdoza. BEIMG HIT MY RHEUMATISM,TOO - " J® Wl V UQfVV "iDE Ain £ffk ) ~ Jl£>T RIGHT I GOTTA,' HEADED FOR THE FISHING GROUNDS BY POISONED DAD GUM ,IF I LIKE. i/ Htt L Fim IT FIWD THAT BOV HE. _ APPOWS, v-, THIS 1 1 f/M^ S= r = ~r Ail rrruPD? DON'T STOP T PICK ( WE’LL WORK THE. \ SHOT AT Nn j 'ISf f~l UpH M'" 1 ] F P'll < DAISIES,'CAUSE They ,• / water apou*od tibuCOW- ) THFU ronu C V ill in literal N AIN’T DAISIES T'Pick// ' V MIGHT TAKE BACK A /

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

T WHAT CLUES, SUH? )/ NO MARKS OM Deft f U|vJO NO MARKS f EITHER THAT, OR IT'S THE^ POOR * 1 ,T ) 0,0 DeR SAFE’ \WO(?.K op A PRETTY SMART v vas opcmed m\t y maybe some jum Y— crook. , ' . -’ 1 . ... o. h y

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

As the white man dropped among the apes, the girl saw the symmetry and beauty of that perfect body, it* grace, its strength, its wondrous proportioning—and then she recognized him! It was the same person who had rescued her from the Uoo,

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

It was the same she had struck down with her pistol butt and escaped when he would have returned her to her enemies—the same wpo had slain ZarzenoS and spared her life that night at Wilhelms tal! Fear-filled and fascinated, she watc#id.

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

\y All —t^ FROMT OF VOU MAVCimCt J TOitO To LF.T VOO Fovi OF TAE- PEOPLE. v\MO Wkiow,vj A QO'E-T, \ CALL KAe OP AMO SOO / GEwTLEMAMLW WAV, \ LET HM GET AWA4 / >T S CalUm’ jj| I \vaj iTA IT. / VOO ; OOT SOO OOH'T SEFM * TO APPRECIATE. A FAv/oR, Viii'^Lf { SO ILL COME RiGMT j 7 LLiAimS '* )Wf\V MOTHERS GST CiffAW. c 1933 BY NEA SERVICE, INC BEG U. . BAT Off 2lf

f UKD LOOK. ONLY Y UST 86 * GANG o* TBEM,SUhN r EXACTLY 1 UNSb O£Y LOWERED Pfeß LOOT VUN EYIT YET NO AND THEY CARRIED THE MOMEY INTO A BOAT FROM CS VINPOW. A •SCRATCHES ON (OUT, INSTEAD o' DRAGGING K\. OANG UP SUPER-CROOKS, DOT’S VOT PER. FLOOR. VOT y DEY \SS, OR. ELSE SOME INSIDER MIT YOU MAKE UP DOT? , ~ | / I ' OTS UF rttL? ” v |iL ■ ’' 'wt6 u , p.r o(f ~ /

•r? — 1 1 , . 1 j • j 1 6AVW Tv\o6t D LOORI THEY PE. \ PLNNJfcfc ABOUND |i COM\ki’ — P J* HETiE METOPE j VWE'L\. SOOM WOMDtR WHAT FT'S ' DNO OUT L , f ? ,r- —\ r ■ .

She heard sounds issue from his throat, identical with those uttered by the apes. .Though she could scarcely believe it, she knew that the godlike creature was conversing with the beasts in their own language!'

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tarzan halted outside the inner circle of bull apes. “I am Tarzan of the Apes!” he cried. “You do not know me because I am from another tribe; but Tarzan comes in peace or he come* to fight! Which shall it be? Show me your king I"

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser:

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Mai tin