Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 247, Indianapolis, Marion County, 23 February 1933 — Page 19

FEB. 23, 1033.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX (Contin-' ued.) Shp was glad, but she also worried, wrtndcring how Dick expected to achieve their fortune. “If I could only get a job on the stage again.” she sighed. “Why, darling?” She eyed him fondly. "Oh. for lots of reasons. I'd be making more money and there are so many things a girl wants for her wedding.” “I’m going to buy you everything in the world your heart desires. Don't you know that?” He caught, her fingers and kissed them. “Maybe. But I'm the strictly J conventional bride. When I marry. I want to bring my sacks of grain to the fireside of my husband.” “What?” asked Dick. "Say that j again, darling! I love to hear you tay ‘mj hu.sbu.nd’!” * T • THEN, just as Sheila had accustomed herself to the life at! Henri's and had given up the thought of returning to the stage, I she received a call from a theatrical producer. It was none other than Mandrake. He declared astonishingly that he wanted her to play the leading role In his new production. Mandrake said the part exactly suited Sheila, i She called at his office and came j away with a signed contract. The play was a musical comedy. It j was bright, witty, with tuneful j music and an unusual plot. Sheila was delighted with the part, j Tlie dances would be a real opportunity for her to show her skill. But there was even more excit-! ing news, Blind Timmy had composed the music. He particularly asked for you to sing his songs,” Mandrake told Sheila. "And of | course I know you can put them j over.” The salary he named was twice ns much as Sheila ever had received! before. She hardly could believe her; ears. “How long will we be in rehearsal?” she asked. “Six weeks. It's a great show r , Sheila. It’ll make you famous.; You'll be a real star!” Then began the grueling work | of rehearsing. Mandrake spared noj time, energy, or expense to make his j plays successful. “A Mandrake play is a successful play,” w r as the slogan up and down Broadway. However, by a similar token, Mandrake expected the men and women he employed to work as hard as he did. Sheila knew she must give up the long delightful evenings with Dick. She must devote herself to dancing, to learning her lines, to singing lessons. She must forget everything else but the play. That wuis the rule of the theater. Mandrake was counting on her, and all of them must w'ork together to make the play a success. tt tt a producer had told Sheila X mat sac was the author’s choice lor the roie as well as hrs own. “Who is the author?” she asked. “An obscure out-of-towner who struck a good idea entirely by chance. It seems he saw you years ago and has admired you ever since. “He won’t be around to worry us during the production. Maybe that’s one reason I agreed to buy this plays. Authors are a nuisance!” Every one was a nuisance to Mandrake when he was working on a new production. He could think of nothing but the play. Sheila gave up her work at Henri’s. The little man argued and urged her to remain, but soon saw’ it was useless. Then at once he demanded a contract to make the gowns she would wear on the stage. That pleased Sheila, and Mandrake was willing. Sheila knew that Henri could make her look beautiful if any one could. He had made the offer partly through shrewd business sense, partly because he admired Sheila and saw’ an opportunity to achieve an artistic tri- * umph in the gowns he would make for her. She was a little surprised that Dick offered no objections W’hen he heard about (he new play. On the contrary, he seemed almost as pleased as Sheila herself. Dorothy Trevor, who by this time knew of their engagement, probably was the most excited of the three. The days became a mad succession of rehearsals, fittings at Henri’s, visits to the bootmaker, sessions with the milliner. Sheila had to be photographed in her new costumes. She was Interviewed by Mandrake’s press representative. She vliad to see newspaper reporters. Billy Brady was coaching her in the new dances. Brady sat. absorbed and scowling, as “Sheila went through the steps. She knew he was pleased, though he seldom praised her. And so the days went. Sheila once more was engrossed in the life she had always known, the theater. Could she give it up to settle down to quiet domesticity with Dick?” She was too busy to consider this. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN IT was a day when the rehearsing had been particularly tedious and tiring. No one could please * Brady. He halted Sheila's dancing a dozen times, made her repeat, criticised brusquely. The chorus stood watching in awed silence. Sheila alone was unperturbed. She could dance and she knew it. The girls in the chorus were frightened because their turn was coming. If Brady found so much fault with Miss Shavne’s dancing, what would he think of them? Sheila danced on. Her feet beat out the tapping rhythm, whirled, stamped and skimmed across the * stage. Tire re was a flx'ed smile on her face. Tire ringlets of her hair curled tightly on her damp forehead.

WRIGLEY’S x ‘ OUM LOOK FOR THE RED'TAPE OPENER

Brady nodded his head to the rhythm. He was standing with c/ic foot on a chair, one hand beating out the time. Sometimes he would go far back in the pit of the theater. watching Sheila. Sometimes he would shout approval. though harsh criticisms were more frequent. Sheila didn’t mind. She knew Bradv was severe because he demanded ~ne best. She repeated tirelessly, until he suddenly announced they were done for the day. She went to her dressing room happily. Brady must be satisfied with her work or he would not have ended the rehearsal. That in itself was a triumph. It gave her confidence and there is no quality more precious to the actor or actress. A chorus girl timidly offered condolence for Brady’s harsh words. Sheila laughed. ”1 don’t mind,” she said. “Bill’s all right.” She was weary, though. Every muscle seemed to ache. She must go on w'ith this tireless work until she could dance without thinking about it, until the routine seemed effortless. There were solo rehearsals and full chorus rehearsals daily. Then came full cast rehearsals. At last Mandrake announced, "We are ready for Atlantic City. The show looks to me like a flop.” He always said that dolefully before his outstanding successes. a a tt THE company traveled to Atlan - tic City for the tryout week. There were more rehearsals there. Sheila endured loss of sleep, weariness, the electric restlessness that always precedes an opening night. There were wires for her from Dick. Sht positively had forbidden him to be present for the first performance. “I can’t do my best with you there,” she told him. “Wait until w r e bring the show to New York.” The first night came and the show was not, as Mandrake had predicted, a flop. It was praised glowingly by the newspapers. Sheila’s name was in the headlines. The company journeyed back to New York and Sheila thought that she never had been so tired. “It’s a good thing,” another member of the cast told her. “We get so tired we don’t care whether the show goes over or not.” Sheila did care. It was not for her own sake, but for Blind Timmy. She felt that she must be a success for Timmy. And for Dick, too. She knew Dick w’ould be proud of her. He always had praised her. believed in her ability. She visualized him in the audience, sliding from his orchestra seat to come to her dressing room between the acts. She could see him with Trevor, perhaps, or Dorothy, following every tap of her flying feet as she skimmed ovef the stage. Oh, yes, she wanted to be a success for Dick! And so at last the opening night arrived. There was Sheila’s name in the big electrical sign, “Sheila Shayne in ‘Flying Flags’.” There was her picture in the newspapers. Sheila Shayne starring in “Flying Flags.” Eve Samper came to see her late in the afternoon. Sheila had been in bed most of the day, resting in accordance with Mandrake’s orders. Eve tried to relieve Sheila’s worries. “Just think tonight is another rehearsal,” she counseled. “Pretend you're in Atlantic City again. You were a wow there!” “I know. But New York is different.” “You tfmn’t be. You’ll be a knockout. Everybody says so.” n tt a EVE departed soon and Sheila tried once more to sleep. She could not. She lay with her eyes closed, thinking about Dick. She had not heard from him since morning. At 5:30 Sheila would arise, dress, and eat a very light lunch. An hour later she w’ould drive to the theater. Her maid would be there, puttering about the dressing room, arranging each cosmetic, each bit of apparel in readiness. She just was leaving when the telephone rang. Sheila heard Dick’s voice over the wire. “Scared?” he asked. “I was when I saw your name in front of the theater.” “Oh, no!” she told him stoutly'. “Not a bit!” He would not know that her hand was shaking. Once in her dressing room, Sheila barred all company. She was fright- ! ened, terribly frightened, and much depended on her regaining her composure. Her hands w T ere icy to the touch. Lucy, the maid, quiet and cheerful, j comforted her. | “You’re going to be a big success,” j Lucy insisted. Sheila fourid herself ; dressed for the first act half an | hour before the curtain would go up. j “Here are some telegrams,” the 1 maid told her, holding out a stack of colored envelopes. There were telegrams from friends scattered throughout the 1 country'. Almost all of them were actors and actresses, people she had known during her years of trouping. It was good to read their gay, encouraging messages. There was a knock at the door I and the maid answered. Mandrake : came in briskly. “How're you feeli ing?” he asked. “Scared,” Sheila admitted. “That’s fine! I've never known a successful star w;ho didn’t have stage fright before the curtain. But you've nothing to worry about. You're going to be a big hit, little girl. I'd stake my last dollar on it.” j “Don't! You might lose!” a an LUCY followed Sheila into the wings as the opening chorus began. In a cleared space Sheila began stretching, bounding, twirling, warming up for her entrance. No- | body paid her the slightest attention. As she danced, the tense look on | her face disappeared. Sheila forgot jto be frightened. She was thinking only of her dancing now. (To Be Continued)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

Rif WELL—THERMS OUR HS I"DEA CP WOBWN6 0r technocrat work )|f four hours a vm, under f FOUR HOURS A. DAT AN' S % TECHNOCRACY, WOULD J FOUR DATS A NNEEK H *BE A JOB AS i/U /AAKE $20,000 A YEAR, Y'\ an ASSISTANT J 0 an' retire, at th* age y C pi-re 0 vy OF FORTY-FIVE —J f WARDEN vfl I\ LESS LABOR, AN' MORE / ( IN A STONE f T\N\& FOR LEISURE ! J QUARRY/ C ‘{Technocracy's authority on - LEISURE- = a Mm

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

COCOS ISLAND . /AT LAST MY ) f SURE.&UT UNCLE HARRY W how DO l KNOW? WHY, MY five. HEARD ) W£LL A AtUNG down the gulf OF DREAMS ARE. COMING TRUE - \ \ IS RICH, RIGHT NOvJ..~ \ DEAR BOY, BOOKS HAVE TOLD MV DAD j AND IF THIS CALIFORNIA,THE SeUCCERF* ANCHOR, WITH MV DIVINING NEEDLE I'LL J AND BESIDES, HOW DO VOU J HOW PIRATES HAVE HIDDEN , TELL ABOUT 7 p ELLOVV ’ S AND 'GHARK’HEAD FOR UNCOVER TREASURE THAT WILL Y KMOW THE.RE 15 TREASURE j THEIR PLUNDER THERE j } OIVINING COCOS ISLAND j W, MAKE YOUR UNCLE A V- ON COCOS ISLAND ? AND, AS YET, NOBODY f THERE NEEDLE - . 7“ SELKCERF _fL_- _. rM ..... ADFtfr V— S. . .y I HAS DISCOVERED// l THERE -rs wor<s W E'LL J /~V, s/f

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

Xr4 U -ro SO AS iiH E -n t f f C TW6 PRl*lTh\ ( /" AH’ PRIME mMTWELF TO THE ThTORE AFTER. GRO\*nVtRNT>O HWE au™ CSKS EATHY TLEPE \ jTdfll ( V V / IE HE HM> To HOCK HtTH l PRINTHETH IN EUROPE WHY, t'LL 6VI6N HAFTA COOK M/ tTUN'T*AMY FOOT) i ? !i!| OEVMELTH % y JEVHELTH AN' HARNETH > \ OVJN MEALTH, AH' (MATH TMTHETH, AN' MAKE OP Mi B&T>.y

SALESMAN SAM

/wou) much g. IHe S TessfK , T\u_ \Go A ©asTec-CrS 33 t-NTUoT'cL. be. 1 e.C~<3,S ToDftSj SAn" <IN - t OON'T V<NOto EGG-S- (A 002. EN \3<L 002.GN [ ToTsS, bOV— \P^ S \ TH’ J r\ tt FOfi. CR.CKSO - /

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

\( J SI n > OH JHANK Yoy ,HR GORDON , | "THE WDNOR AND < btNCE YOU ARE GO KELY. EUERY-TOR—-TOR COM\N' TOW ITG MINE, \NTORN\ED AG TO w’ NAME , ONE f I ASSURE MAY I E>E GO E.OLD AG TO CALLS H | w taxis ’ 1

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Much grieved at the near-fatal end to his hospitality, Prince Ahmed spoke of graver things impending. The thrown dagger had been a signal for the ijprising of the smouldering revolt in his father's state, against the British.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

The procession of the Buddha's Tooth had broken up in wild disorder as the people cheered the war-like Gurkhas, hastening to join forces with ttjfc outbreak of fanaticism on the frontier, “There,’* said Ahmed, "are your countrymen.

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

\Kie\on. vmea_\_, I' 1 C ' AMp> X OOGrvATA V<siOWlE.O, \ JZ N h&ijFVtft \ out, ©oT COUV.O ¥= J \ '7 r ‘ E> "T° o ' BE. OCKiE; Bacv<waposJ r *~- ~ JA-'NiUtftMS. TUg MMOBRV WART. rrt.

( m I? ( TT frk A’ BOOTS.'.’. SAY-I UKE YOO IVAY 1 SPLENDO \ THAT | YOU SAT IjERHARG THAT! \NELL , NOW THAT TH' ONLY MAKES THE rp N\CE SOOTG \GNT VoE ARE ACQYA\NTED, CATCH \G - G\TUAT\ON THIN6S GOING SOOTG MAY \ I WASN'T ALTOGETHER. ANYWHERE, too inhere J go\n’ any- rereect gallantly sot she. TOO WERE GOING? VNHERE „ r You CERTAINLY ~ ' T "’“

“The British are amassing a considerable force.” His entire state, he added, was now unsafe for English travelers. He assured Roger of his own loyalty and urgdl his guests to remain within the palace for a while.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

But fearing the treachery of the other natives, Roger Cecil had no mind to risk the lives of his mother and Pat by remaining. He, too, had come to distrust Ahmed’s father, the wily maharajah. After he sought out Pat and unfolded his plan. '

PAGE 19

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Mar tin: