Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 296, Indianapolis, Marion County, 21 April 1933 — Page 25

'APRIL 21, 1933.

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BEf’.IV HI RI TODAY . MONICA O DAI'J. vrrV v. 20. and poor. i in lovn with DAN CARDIGAN, hrir to on- of Br'.'-fdrro % fort ir.es. Monnie ttork* In a dri;sr nor- brlptnf to support. liar MOTH Kit tier \n .i.grr tiFt-r KAY. and her broth-r MARK An o.drr brother. BILL. ' a *•< mechanic. The O Dre Imp seer. bett* r da' I)n Cardigan comer- b*>,. from the < .tv arid doe? not *r € /. Mom/ o ' a' once . c 5 e >s unhkppv. CHARLES EUSTACE mv<-t-rlotu and handsome newcomer to town, engages Khv •• arir.ratio: liar trtr 't unexpectedly as Monnie It washing the • upper diahea NOW GO ON WITH THE STORV CHAPTER ONE (Continual < Momnie ran water In the tub find fultcd in a handful of pineneedle salts. Maybe he would call, eny minute now. People always did telephone the instant you got into the tub. She shut of! the faucet, struck by the dreadful thought that she might miss him. But mother would know how important it was. Mother would cull her! Trembling with excitement, Monnie dashed through her bath, slipped into clean underthings, and donned the coolest of her few frocks, a last year linen that had been lilac tinted when new, and was now the color of late evening sky. "Monnie!” That was Kay's voice, on the landing. "Coming!” Monnie sang, almost gayly. Kay linked her arm in that of her elder sister. “I’m sorry I was so nasty,” she said, very low. "I didn't mean it. Only—only—everything's so rotten—” Monnie stifled the alarm she felt. “How do you mean?” Kay sniffed. “Oh. this miserable town and the people and the way you gH high-hatted if you're poor. I'm going to get out of it —” tt !S e'T'HEY were almost at the foot of J. the stairs now. Monnie warned: 'Don't let mother hoar you! She thought, poor kid! I must do something for her—must help her to have a good time.” They all sat down. Monnie looked nround, her eyes questing. •Bill?" She thought her mother's smile fire mod forced. ‘ He phoned he had to work and would get something tb rat near the shop." Mark, freckled, red-haired put in, mischievously, "bet he's got a girl over at Snowd n n. Dot he has. ’ Ka.v frowned at him. "Well, if he lias,” said Mrs. O'Dare tranquilly, "I hope she's a nice girl and I hope she likes him.” "He hasn’t been seeing much of Gertrude lately, has he?” Monnie asked, attacking her plate with the 7,cst, of healthy vouth. She felt rested now, she felt she might put her worries and fears behind her in this blest, atmosphere of home. Mrs. O'Dare answered the question. "I don't think so,” she said. “Gertrude passed me at church Sunday in a great hurry—didn't even stop to speak. 3 thought—l guessed—she was hurt about something. She's a sweet girl—and very fond of Bill.” Mrs. O'Dare always tried to speak well of everyone. Her children knew that. That was why they held their tongues about Gertrude. Privately all three were just a little pleased to know that the affair of Bill and Gertrude was waning. Gertrude was plump and prim and attractive —although the traits did not seem to go together. "Monnie, especially, felt Bill deserved something bettor than Gertrude. Why, there wasn’t the tiniest scrap cf glamour in an affair like this. Suppose Bill should marry and settle down—marry Gertrude, that is—and begin to raise a family right there in Belvedere! He’d be doomed. He wouldn't have a chance. Bill wanted to learn, to do something big, to visit far-off places and make a name for himself. Marriage with Gertrude Hampstead would finish liim, once and for all. tt tt tt INTO Monnie's reveries clanged Hie shrilling telephone bell. Kay made a half movement to answer it, but fell back as she saw her sister's eager expression. Monica tried to move slowly, not to seem too excited, but her hand trembled as she lifted thp receiver. "Hello?” She made her voice sound cool and impersonal. Dan must not know she had been waiting for him so patiently. "Oh, yes?” There w&s flatness in her tone now. Kay recognized it. So did their mother, listening in spite of herself. "Yes. Yes. I’ll toil him. Thanks. She hung up, hating to go back to the table. She managed a smile of fictitious brightness. "That was Hank Robinson. He wants Bill to call him.” Mrs. O'Dare said she would tell him. She did not look at Monnie. “No dessert for me, thanks,” Kay chattered, helping to remove plates. She was, Monnie could see. making conversation, trying to bridge over the awkward moment. Kay could be kind when she wasn't thinking entirely of herself. "—and they say he's frightfully rich. Awfully good-looking. He’s something like Gary Cooper ” Who was Kay talking about? Monnie sat up. began to listen. "He's taken the old Waterman place out on the River road.” Kay chattered. "Doesn't seem to do anything much. Stretches out in a deck chair in the morning and goes riding in the afternoon.” "What's his name?” Mrs. O'Dare inquired. Her life was so restricted now that she welcomed news of the outside. Kay wrinkled her brows. "I'll swear I know it this morning,” she offered, "but I can't think of it at the moment. We were standing on the school steps when he rode by. Allie Niles said he smiled at her—” “Aw, you dopes are always thinkin’ someone's payin’ attention to you.” growled Mark disgustedly. His mother reproved him. "Son, aliat a name to use to your sister!” He grinned at her.' “Mom. you know it's the truth. This Eustace —he's a great guy. I saw him fisitin' off the bridge last Saturday. He thinks they're a lot of crazy kids.”

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"Eustace —that's his name,” Kay confirmed. "Charles Eustace. What do you know about him?” she demanded, staring Mark down. "Plenty,” said Mark Importantly. “He's O. K . he is. And he doesn't care for women.” Kay giggled. Mark was irresistibly funny. “Allie says the thinks he's an artist or a writer,” she went on. "Eustace?” Mrs. O’Dare mused. "One of the Waterman girls married a man named Eustace, a New Yorker, when I was just a child. This must be her son.” tt m tt MONNIE scarcely heard them. Kay's "crushes” were many and various. The newcomer, whoever he might be, was sure to be all right if Mark sponsored him. Mark would know if he were bogus. But what did all this matter—where was Dan? Her head began to ache, and there was a nervous throbbing back of her eyes. “We'll do the dishes, mother,” she said. Kay and I. You go and lie down.” Mrs. O'Dare pushed her gently aside. "Nonsense, when you’ve changed your dress and freshened up.” Monnie set her jaw. “I’m going to wash dishes tonight. Nothing shall stop me.” She put a big checked apron on over the faded linen. She took the dishpan from its nail, filled it with warm soapy water. With vigor she sloshed the cups and saucers in and out, finding in the homely task some surcease from her pain. She could be useful, anyway, even if Dan didn't want her. Lost in a daydream, she went through her work. She would work hard, she would earn enough to take them all away from Belvedere. Years later, busy, successful and happy, she would return. She would see an old, tiredlooking man on Main street. Some one would say, “There’s Monica O’Dare, the famous author, actress, singer.” The man would look up, his grim features working with emotion. He would mutter, “My Monnie. And I last her, fool that I was.” It would be Dan, tired, broken, disappointed. She sluiced the drainboard with fresh water, wrung out her cloth with an expert motion. Kay had finished the last of the silver, had flitted upstairs. Through the half open door, Monnie could see her mother dozing over the evening paper in the bay window. Evening had settled down over the little town. The yard looked melancholy, the lilacs sent their fragrance through the dusk. As the girl turned to put out the light she heard a firm step on the side porch. Her first thought was that it was Bill, returning eariy. She went to the screen door. Amber eyes stared up at the man who stood without. “I rang at the front several times,” he said quietly. “I guess no one heard.” Monnie managed to control the tremor in her voice as she answered him. “Come in, Dan,” she said softly. He was back, and he hadn’t forgotten her! CHAPTER TWO HE stared down at her longlashed, sullen-looking, eyes lighted from within. “Hello!” he said lightly. Monnie shrank back. The greeting was casual, as though he had been gone a day or a week, instead of almost a jear. Her pride rose. She took her cue from him, shrugging herself out of his prisoning fingers. “Nice to see you,” she said coolly, trying to deny the sick torment his arrival had stirred within her. "When did you get back?” Dan's gaze shifted. He sauntered to the little bay window which looked out on the lawn. Red geraniums bloomed there in an old-fash-ioned wire stand. Dan fixed his eyes on this and mumbled, “Oh, around noon. I was busy with the family until just now. Thought Id drop in and see how you’ve been behaving since I left.” "He's lying to pie.” said Monnie's traitorous heart. "Why don't I let him know that I know?” Aloud she said casually: “Oh, nice of you. Kay said at dinner she thought she'd seen you.” He swung around. His answer had the swiftness of a pistol shot. "She did, eh? I don’t see how she could have. I’ve been busy as a bird dog ever since I arrived.” Monnie did r.ot look at him. The old struggle had begun again between them. Dan’s constant evasions maddened her, whose nature was simple and honest as the day. "Why don't I let him go, once and for all?” her inner voice demanded. The struggle to keep Dan interested, to keep him in love with her, wearied her. But some strong compulsions she did not half understand made her keep it up. It wasn't as if Dan were the only man who ever had paid attentions to her. There were half a dozen in and around Belvedere who would have been proud and glad to claim Monica O'Dare—but Dan was the one she wanted. Mrs. O'Dare stirred. Her glasses fell to the floor with a clatter and she called: "Who's that you're talking to, Monnie? Did Bill get in yet?” The girl was grateful for the interruption. An awkward silence like a barrier had grown up between her and the tall young man in the gray suit. "It’s Dan Cardigan, mother,” she said casually. “He knocked, but we didn't hear, so he came round.” Mrs. O'Dare greeted Dan. “Come out of the kitchen, children. I was just thinking of lightin a fire in here. It will be cosy—” Monnie interrupted, her usually sweet voice high and strained. “Dan just stopped in to say hello. He's running along.’” Why had she said that, she wondered? She didn’t want him to go, and yet here she was giving him a chance to escape. (To Be Continued)'

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

YOU KNOVM JIP THERE SOME WAY TO j 11 WENT UNDkR nppF/ TRANSMIT THAT MOOSE-MOAN.V LAST NIGHT 9 WHILE: MOURE SLEEPING,TO - AN' ALL ON* v \ THE "DANGER ZONES OP OUR w OUR SNORING? / \ SEACOASTS, WED HAVE Y STRING J ( FEWER SHIPWRECKS; }F YOURS, ON& OP YOUR SNORTS r IN ANY / WOKE ME UP, AN THEN AS A I "DOZED) "BACK TO X.E U {T YOU DIDN'T A SLEEP, "DREAMING * J ( HEAR ME SNORING r) I WAS A JUDGE J I BE A s in A ? .Y 1 ) (HE AW BREATHER. SHOW^ i \ THE RESULT OF ONCE tZ *3

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

'C f OKAY, ) WOW WE'LL } A BRAVE PAIR. |]U COMPLETE FRECKLES-' \ SEE How /OF LAPS THOSE DISMAY, TJ-lEY’RE J YOU LlkE. J TWO-WE'LL. EVERY PIRATE ALL TIED / A UTTLE / <^TB TO LIFTED HIS UP, MOW J AROUMC> j NO W( J/ HANDS, AS 1 ~ r \ you* fy

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

/COMC-RHTS, AMBROSE ! EIRST V\te SEEN S FINS., YOU S|NC€iMoU CAHRRHEO LUCY l G-VELRY- ./COULDN'T . . ..I , . _ 1 ,I.' .. i / ..TT,.'

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

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Not once did Zu-tag pause until he came to a stop among the tree branches near the cannibal village. They could hear the sounds of life within the palisades and Olga caught glimpse of the hideous savages.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

So you SNE'RE COINS \ J4E CAME DOWN IN THESE' n WCLE WAEEy \ waters FOR A MORE im- ) P° rt ANT -TWINS THAW t A ‘ A THAT. ME LAD.... BUT HE M you CAN! T CARRY our wL DIDN’T GET IT 1 * Mr

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From them she had so recently escaped. She shuddered to think of possible recapture by them and she wondered why the apes had brought her here. Now the anthropoids advanced slowly and with noiseless caution, until they could easily look down into the tillage street.

—By Ahem

OUT OUR WAY

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Zu-tag. loosening the girl’s arms, squatted on a limb, motioning her to find a footing for herself. Repeatedly he pointed at a hut’s open door and by various gestures seemed trying to explain something to her.

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At last Olga caught his meaning—her white man was a prisoner there! Darkness was falling. The fires bepeath the cooking pots were lighted. She saw the stake and fagot piles, suddenly realizing the meaning of these grisly preparations! But how could she prevent the feast?

—By Williams

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

PAGE 25

—By Blosser

■—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin