Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 295, Indianapolis, Marion County, 20 April 1933 — Page 19

APRTL 20, 1033

DfißunG Fool

(Continued From Page One)

clerked at the drug store. It was July. High school commencement Just behind her. She had been, Rhe remembered, wearing a thin vhlte dress—dotted swiss. It was her class day dress. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to wear It to work, had said that it was highly unsuitable. But Monica, with a gentle persistence that surprised even herself, had worn it. Something had told her to look her best that day. Maybe it was the knowledge that Dan Cardigan was back in town. a a a CHE had been arranging the perfume bottles in the case, her back turned to the door, when she heard his voice. That slow', deep drawl had set her pulse pounding. She went on. fingering the squat crystal containers, afraid to turn around and betray what she was feeling. Then she heard Mr. Vernon's good-natured, “Guess there’s somebody you know here, Dan. Meet my new helper. Guess you two know each other.” She had turned, hoping the nervous pulse in her throat, now beating madly, didn't reveal itself. She had been rewarded for her calm demureness by a flash of interest in Dan Cardigan's smoldering eyes. Her own, velvet lashes, with their amber depths, were lifted innocently to his. “God, make him like me, make him like me!” she had prayed, with simple fervor. Well, he had. And he did—she hoped! Perhaps this summer, this week, things would be settled between them. Perhaps—it might be as simple as this—Dan would come to see her tonight and say: “Let’s cut dowm to High Springs Saturday and be married.” He hadn’t asked her yet, in so many words. But every one in town knew she was “Dan Cardigan's girl.” Every one expected him to ask her. Only Monnie, herself, sometimes felt a sick pang of apprehension. When they were together it was all right. Dancing or riding down the yellow roads In Dan's old roadster. It was when she was alone, when her mother looked at her anxiously, worriedly, not speaking her thoughts, that Monnie knew terror —terror at the thought of losing Dan. She turned in, at length, between the ragged lines of privet that bordered the red brick walk, and went, with brisk step, toward the little white house. For the thousandth time she thought the same thoughts; that the house ought to be painted; that they ought to have new canvas on the old porch swing; that the hedge needed trimming; that mother’s petunias were hardier than any others on Denny street. It was a nice little house, a trifle shabby it is true, but home, for all that. If Monica longed for the fleshpots of “the hill,” she gave no outward sign of it. Not for the world would she have hurt her mother's feelings. The O'Dares had been used to better things. Before papa’s death they had had a trim red brick house farther out. with sloping lawns, and a colored man to keep the borders ♦idy. Papa had had a little car, too, and they had been a prosperous little family. Now everything was changed. Monnie. in spite of her few years, had a burden to carry. Bill helped, but it was Monnie to whom the mother looked for everything. “Hello, there!” She hung her hat on the outmodel “hall tree,” (how she hated that, thing) and passed through to the kitchen. Mrs. O'Dare was at the stove, stirring something. There was the mingled smell of cooking food. Beets bubbled in a big pot, and from the oven floated the odor of meat loaf. “Hot!" Monnie said simply, pushing back the ringlets of bronze hair and sighing. She was wishing, this night, for cool food on silver salvers, for a great high room with silvery green curtains swishing at the windoys and a man’s face tit wore Dans features) smiling down at her. She saw herself wearing organdie of palest pink, flowing to her toes. There were blue slippers on her feet. “Mo-1 her” lire shrill, girlish voice of Kay brought Monnie abruptly back to earth. Kay stood in the doorway, her youthful bosom heaving with some real or fancied grievance, her eyes, gentian-blue where Monnie’s were amber-dark, smoldering. "Mo-ther! You said vou’d press my linen and you didn't!” a a a Monnie compressed her lips. “Why didn’t you do it yourself? You know mother’s worn out as it is!” Mrs. O'Dare Intervened. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t seem to get around to it. I was on the go all day.” Her fine, delicately lined face was flushed and tired. Monica felt a surge of affection for her, and with it the familiar flare of impatience Kay’s unreasonableness so often evoked. “I'll- do it after supper,” Mrs. O'Dare said gently. Monnie swung. “You won't do any such thing! You'll go and lie down while Kay and I do the dishes. You had that bad headache yesterday and you're a wreck now.” Her eyes blazed ino Kay’s. It was all very well to sympathize with the younger girl (Monnie did—more passionately than she dared admitv but this bullying of their mother was more than she could bear. She followed the sulking youngster into the hall, shutting the door beliind her. In a low voice she said “How can you, Kay? You know she's tired out. Dr. Allen said ’ Kay shrugged her shoulders Petulantly, she muttered, “All you care about is getting your own way If you were going out with Dan Cardigan it'd be a different story.” Monnie flushed a deep scarlet What did Kay know about Dan's arrival back in town? The unfairness of her sister’s attitude cut her deeply. • Dan’s back in town,” Kay said

GUM YOU CAN BUY

spitefully. “And I bet he never even telephoned you.” Monnie's heart began to beat thickly, painfully. She felt almost suffocated. But she managed to say, with dignity. “I knew he was coming. I heard from him the other day.” Kay smiled wisely. “Bet you didn't see him driving down Mam street with Sandra about half-past 'LI Oh, no. he wouldn’t bother to come around —not till he’s good and ready. And when he comes, hell find you waiting right where he left you.” Sandra— Dan—that very afternoon! Monnie couldn't believe it! Sandra had been in the store at noon, hadn’t said anything at all about expecting Dan. There was only one train he might have come on and that was the early morning one. Then why hadn't he .railed her? She felt quite sick. A little warning pulse in her temples began to rhrob. Kay plunged on: “Bet he’d sing a different tune if he came here, just once, and found you’d gone out with someone else. But no, you're always ready and waiting, whenever he happens to take a notion to drop around! I should think you’d have more—” “Kay!” A quiet voice interrupted this tirade. Mrs. O'Dare, pale, but with a certain grimness about her gentle mouth, stood in the doorway, staring at her younger daughter. Kay wilted. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said. “I didn’t mean it—” “You run along and finish setting the table,” Mrs. O’Dare said in a cool voice. Kay went. Monnie, whose knees j had begun to feel oddly like straw, sat down on the little old Windsor j chair beside the door. “Maybe if you’d have time for a bath before supper,” Mrs. O’Dare began doubtfully, “you’d feel better. ! You’re tired out. I’ve got the heater lighted.” Monnie smiled at her. “Thanks. Mother. You think of everything.” a a a SHE went upstairs with a step determinedly swift. Not for worlds would she let any of them know' what it cost her to hide the hurt in her heart. Dan back—and he hadn’t called her! When she was fairly aching for the sight of him, for the clasp of his hand! Maybe Kay had been mistaken, maybe she had been merely spiteful! But, no, even Kay in a tantrum was not likely to invent the spectacle of Dan and Sandra Lawrence together. At the thought, Monnie's pulses began to hammer, and that feeling of sinking—sinking—smote her once more. Sandra, who was so cool and sure of herself, who after a year at finishing school In the east had gone to Paris to return clanking with bracelets, redolent of strange, alluring scents, wearing the most extreme and bizarre costumes Belvedere had seen these many moons. Monnie quieted the raging tumult within her. Dan and Sandra —why, there was nothing to it. They belonged to the same crowd, knew the same people. It was only the merest accident, probably, that they had met that day. Sandra knew how Dan felt about Monnie. Didn’t she stop in at the store often to whisper charmingly, “I suppose you've heaiti from some one in the city? I knew that was why you looked so pretty today.” Monnie was proud of Sandra’s friendship. Sandra, who could know any one and was invited everywhere, who was so clever, and might have been a writer or an artist if she put her mind to it (she said so herself). Only Sandra had been born to money. The Lawrences owned the paper mills out on the River road, and Sandra, last of the line, lived with her father in the handsome stone pile on the Hill. Near the Cardigans. That was how she happened to know Dan so well. Dan —Dan—Dan! (To Be Continued)

ATSOOK BY BRUCE CATTON

THE marines who served in Haiti during the American occupation seem to have seen some strange sights and done some strange things, and during the last year or |so they have begun to tell about them. Right now we have Captain John H. Craige, U. S. M. C., writing "Black Bagdad,” which is as fhv’ a collection of exciting tales as you'd care to read. He tells, for example, of the young ! marine officer who mistakenly took | to the jungle a childlike belief in the brotherhood of man, and who got flayed alive for his pains. He tells of jungle savages w r ho walk on the sides of their feet, like apes, and who enjoy going to jail because it gives them social disj tinction. He tells of the renegade white man, who living in a Negro village, j announced that he was doing his bit for the American occupation by increasing Haiti's white-blood content. and who confessed that he was the father of 240 native children. Voodoo? Well, Ceptain Craige isn't sure; he does know that a voodoo curse was put upon him, once, that he suffered from excruciating pains and that they finally left him when a friendly native perl formed incantations to remove the | curse. Captain Craige seems to have had a good deal of sympathetic understanding for the Haitian people; and, if occasionally he makes his book sound like a recruiting poster for the marine corps—well, who cares? It's a fine outfit, and "Black Bagdad" is a most fascinating book. Published by Minton, Balch and ,Cos.. it sells for $3.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

HOW ABOUT LIVIN' M.E, OEM OKb / JCNt., JASONA || y\ SACKS OB PIGEON FEED, NM ST AH BARGAIN THOSE X Jf| AAAJAH?-AHS -RAISIN'CHICKENS, ] ) TW^K |P AN' DEM VOWL OB MINE HAS SCRATCHED T of A OF f/ DOWN TO BED-ROCK IN MA YARD, LOOWN SLp F FAW L t k burn up.lSSno,^ AW LL KEEP VO ALL IN FRESW A\GS \ WIN"DSTORfw9-_THEToWN C EBERY MAWNIN AULL FETCH VO OVAH / WA <- WITH A fOr> TWOBREAKFUST AIGS ,SO FRESH S i=ouß-INCH FALL OF v WONT WANT TO WIPE J ' E,SA OFF YO CMIN THE BLITTER BUSINESS FO a COUPLE DAYS/ THEN, AND SOL’D OVER y THIRTY THOUSAND W 0 \T J ? FOUNDS IN AIN

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

Quick as UP WITH YOUR ). -O A FLASH, HANDS l! THE \ >1 rRECKLES WHOLE’ BUNCH k REACHES THE OF •• / ' gun WISJE FARBAR'S / ' men

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

f / BUT VJWN TH’ Btfa VARM N/BLAZES'. VOU OVDM'T E.V.PECT US TO ( WIUN NIUN LEAMIM’ ) THE PEOPLE HE’D BEEN LOCKED UP IN ( ME ON TH’ THRONE SO'S [ A<MLS AND WUT-HOUSES, D\D \OU? , r\ l>T L \ he COULD CLEAN UP A y' —,/ 7 owtp/ U ? nra? o >

SALESMAN SAM

/ALL R(CH(T SfW. HERD'S AMOTHER.A OH , (’CA TAKIN' 'A OqN’T SEE. WOU) Na CAM AFFORD ) OH, VA DOW’T. M 7| ALU*Ws ASK EACH GIRL.TOST ©S- Q>CVM&fa-20& Ttoo bucks ouTa Ne.(l Pan ; 6utj J anothet? <sal out To Take, so ctamn g-irls To ey— s That's, / for.e- cue. c-o ku ,if sue. hasn't bcen /v Tell cae, cuhaoda na doin’ umth /To dinner, at PeNswe. restaurants - easy. Boss J L putting-on loeightl u UsjTumble tMe i

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

/ —— - v BON OH BON HOW ag NES —BOY \Yfc 1 WONDER WHERE THAT GORDON LFD *< DO6GOVOT , MONEN AND CHARACTER. HE GOT AU-THAT DOEb SCATTER Th’ \SKiT ENERYTHIKiG THAT COUNT OUGHDAN ? ,J: 1 i,.'_ V '

TAKZAN THE UNTAMED

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Much to the chagrin of Zu-tag, the girl soon found she could not keep up with the ape’s rapid pace. He kept constantly running back and urging her ttH greater speed. She caught her foot and fell. Then indeed was Zu-tag furious!

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

_|n_ u Danavm rr Chnm furou Pnr—cm. ijowwAmi

His apes were waiting at the forest edge for him to lead them. Suddenly he realized this poor weak she would keep them traveling so slowly that they might be too late to help the great white ape. So the giant anthropoid picked Olga up bodily.

—By Ahem

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OUT OUR WAY

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He swung her to his back. Then he started off rapidly to join his companions. The girl clung tightly to the mighty bull, but when he took to the lower tree branches she shut her eyes, expecting each second to fall tp the ground.

/ YES,me! and DONT THINK. ATTA Boy, S x DON’T RECOShJIZE YoU, BACK FRECKLES ! OF THOSE WHISKERS.... UNTIE “ ‘7 2 | S tfose sailors you took off 60 | o § • op Twg ’EM, NOW i j ====REG7U. S. PAT. OFF. liF & (SE \ /• u) \ .

That journey through the primeval forest will always live in the girls memory! Later, she found that even with her weight, Zu-tag moved more rapidly and with no greater signs of fatigue than his unburdened fellows.

—By Williams

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

PAGE 19

—By Blossei;

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin