Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 304, Indianapolis, Marion County, 1 May 1933 — Page 11

WAY 1, 1933.

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% ,^...TrS F -° ,N HF.BE TODAY MONNIB O'DARE. poor and 20. is m love with DAN CARDIGAN, heir Jo on* oft he local lor*- nc Dan proJcsse* to iov her but i* often neg.ectWhen she need, a friend CHARLES J.CBTACE conies to her aid Monnie be.ieves SANDRA LAWRENCE In Dan * 2n trvlnir to *;n him from her. Bict,. Monnle's older brother, plans to marry aNC.ie GILLEN, who work* !n a candy store, a* soon as Angle gets a divorce, Kay O'DARE ] and still In high •chool. Is discontented with poverty. A 1 a dinner party at Charles' house Monnie Is heartsick when she accldentalIV s<*fS Dan kl># Randra IIETIY. a hou-emald at the Lawrences, dislikes Bandra. t, NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER EIGHT tCon'inued) Perhaps, Monnie thought, after she had wrapped Sandra's package and said good-by to her, she misjudged her friend. Perhaps Sandra was really and truly her champion. “It's my nasty, suspicious nature, I guess,” she thought ruefully “It’s natural for Dan to see a lot of her. They belong in the same set—l don't. Perhaps Sandra is right, and a dose of his own medicine will bring Dan around.” Miss Anstice came tip at that moment with the toothbrush she had selected. She peered nearsightedly at Monnie. "What's this I hear,” she cried cheerily, “about your young sister’s leaving us and going to New York?” "It's news to me,” Monnie told her. What was Kay planning now? CHAPTER NINE SANDRA pursed her lips, watching her slim, cool reflection in the glass and approving it. Her frock was of white lace, deliberately ingenious. Sandra was not the ingenue—far from it —but occasionally she chose the role. Her soft, dark hair, worn just long enough to make a series of becoming ringlets above her graceful nape, was charmingly arranged. The faintest trace of mauve outlined her large eyes, and her lip rouge was the color of a June rose. A horn sounded below stairs and she snatched up a brief wrap of green silk and hurried out of the room. On the stairs she passed a maid in trimmest black. “I'll be late tonight, Hetty. Tell father,” Sandra directed. The servant's small, dark eyes flickered at her mistress for a moment with a hint of antagonism, Instantly quenched. Her reply was perfectly respectful, “Very well, Miss Sandra.” There was the rustle of soft draperies, the hint of an elusive scent on the stairs. A door slammed, and gears slashed noisily. A motor purred away Into the summer evening. Lilac and rose and blue stained the western sky. The air was de-lightful-warm, yet fresh—and, as the car slipped westward, the odors of summer night in the country drifted to the nostrils of the two occupants of the car. “Nice,” purred Sandra, slipping her long, white hand, with its red jewpls of pointed nails, around her escort's arm. Dan Cardigan grinned down at her. “Lady, you said it.” That w’as Dan. The argot of the man in the street served him for speech. In spite of all his background and training, Dan talked, Sandra reflected lightly, rather like a roustabout. She didn’t mind. She liked everything about him—his bigness, his frown, his masculinity. Liked? Well, that was a mild word. “Who's going to be there? At Charles’ place, I mean,” she inquired idly. Dan shrugged. “Dunno. Probably the Waterman crowd.” "Oh. I don’t think so. I hope not.” protested Sandra. “They’re awfully dull. Oh, Danny, If they are, you'll have to take me away early. I shall perish of boredom.” “Walt and see,” advised Dan. Sandra slumped luxuriously in the roadster’s low seat. After a moment she demanded, “Give me a cigaret, Danny, like an angel.” tt tt tt WITHOUT removing his eyes from the road, Dan produced a packet, lighted a cigaret, and put it between the pouting lips of the girl. Sandra narrowed her eyes, squintthrough the smoke. Most men took advantage of such tiny intervals to snatch a kiss or two. It wasn’t — it couldn’t be—that Dan thought her unattractive. She abandoned that notion as preposterous. No, it must be some quaint notion of chivalry he had. Or—she caught, her breath involuntarily at the thought—perhaps some fantastic idea of loyalty to—to someone else. “Absurd,” she muttered to herself. “What did you say, beautiful,” drawled the object of her thoughts. She patted his coat sleeve possessively. “Nothing.” They drove on in silence for another minute. Then Sandra said suddenly, confidentially, "Remember what we talked about yesterday, Dan?” A slow red burned under the man’s deep tatv and his voice sounded embarrassed. “Guess I said too much. Didn't mean to rave on so, but Mother burned me up at lunch. I had to talk to someone.” “I know, Danny dear.” Sandra was all gentle understanding. “It's difficult. It's terribly so. But—has it ever occurred to you that perhaps your mother's right?" Dan slowed down the car a little, turning to stare at her. “About Monnie. you mean? But I thought —but you said ” He seemed bewildered. “I know. Dan. I’m terribly fond of Monnie. You know that. She's had a difficult time. She works hard. She's a splendid girl. We all know it. But here's the point—are you two suited? Is it worth all the —the fuss and fighting its sure to cause in your family? “Remember, Dan, your father's awfully proud of .you. He's expecting great things. You'll have a position to maintain some day. Not just here, but in Cleveland—in New York. You might be —why, Dan. there's no reason at all why you shouldn’t do something really big!

In politics, or something like that.” Her eyes widened. “What’s that got to do with Monnie?” Dan wanted to know. n a a SANDRA hesitated. "Monnie's all right,” she admitted slowly. "But—it's the family, Dan. They’re —after all, we might as well faca facts— they’re nobody. Her brother works in a garage. Her younger sister’s rather wild, I hear. It’s just not the sort of thing that would sound awfully good later on if a man were to go in for public life.” “Whoever said I was going in for it?” asked Dan. mildly humorous. But Sandra could see the idea appealed to him. She pressed the point. “All these things seem so unimportant now,” she said, gently judicious. “A man doesn't know at 22 what he wants to be in ten years. He has to plan—look ahead—or someone else has to do it for him. Many splendid men,” she reminded him sweetly, “have found their lives all warped and twisted because they'd chosen the wrong sort of wives.” “But Monnie isn’t ” Dan began protestingly. “I know, Dan. I know. Haven’t I,” asked Sandra, smiling ruefully, “done everything possible to help Monnie? Not that I think it’s done much good, really. I’m afraid, deep down, she doesn’t honestly like me.” She sighed and brushed at her eyes lightly with a wisp of chiffon and lace. “No, Danny, dear,” she continued, still in that dulcet, sisterly tone. “I can see both sides of the question. I see yours and Monnie’s and I see your parents’, who are proud of you and want the best. How can they be sure it’s not just a boy and girl infatuation? How can any one of us know it isn’t?” Dan growled something unintelligible and swerved his car into the driveway curving before the little old stone and timber house where Charles Eustace lived. “Don’t be cross, Danny-boy,” pleaded Sandra prettily as they came to a halt under the porte cochere. “You know I want the best for you, too, don’t you?” She was very close to him. Dan, hurt, puzzled and somehow definitely annoyed, stared down at tiie pretty face lifted to hts. Before he knew what was happening, his lips were pressed ardently to Sandra’s provocative ones. There was a sigh and then Sandra slipped out of his grasp and through the door. “Danny, I can’t imagine what’s getting into us,” she breathed, scandalized. “I’m sorry—didn’t mean—” muttered the man, following her. In Sandra’s long-lashed eyes w T as a suppressed glimmer of triumph. a tt tt MONNIE felt her heart stand still. She had been in the embrasure overhanging the drive, watching the sunset. She had been utterly unprepared for the shock of seeing Sandra arrive with Dan. For an instant, not meaning to, she had stared at the pair below. Then she had seen Dan's face hover for an instant close to the girl’s—had seen the sudden, brief but passionate kiss that followed. She felt sick and faint. Her blood hummed In her ears. Where should she go—what should she do to escape? She turned, like a hunted thing. There was a sharp rat-a-tat at Charles’ knocker now. The servant was hurrying in response. None of the people in the little fireside group—neither Kay, sparklingly pretty in her old pink organdie, nor Charles Eustace, the host, nor his New York friend, Webster Hallam—had witnessed the tableau. Monnie alone knew what had passed between Sandra and Dan just before the opening of the door. She braced herself to meet them. “Hello, Dan!” (To Be Continued)

nyn AW BY BRUCE CAJTON JAPAN’S side of the Manchurian affair has not been very well represented in this country. Japan has lacked a "good presss”; evidently the art of propaganda is one that the Japanese have been quite unable to master. This lack Is partly remedied in “Manchoukuo, Child of Conflict,” by K. K. Kawakami, a Japenese newspaper man at Washington, who presents his country’s version of the troublesome and perplexing crisis in the Far East. He asserts, to begin with, thatJapan has behaved toward China with rather surprising restraint. The treaties guaranteeing Japan’s commercial and political right in Manchuria were dishonored by the Chinese repeatedly, he says; and the Japanese finally struck only in order to forestall a carefully planned massacre. The Manchurian war lords, he asserts, would not have dared to defy Japan if they had not felt that the League of Nations was backing them, and would keep Japan from punishing them. He believes that Manchoukuo presently will be recognized, not as a puppet state, but as a truly independent nation. He points out that the country’s finances are being put in order, that its trade is reviving and that its swarm of bandits is being suppressed: only if Japan and Manchoukuo cam’ the war past the great wall and try to extend their power over China proper, he says, will they come to grief. He asserts, also, that American trade has nothing to fear; on the contrary, it will be stimulated by the spread of Japanese influence and the growing solidarity of the new state's power. This book is published by Macmillan and is priced at $2.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Unarmed and helpless, for the place where Tarzan had apparently deserted him was utterly strange to him. Lieutenant Cecil about decided he must perish in this jungle. Yet he found it hard to believe that his recent companon in distress would abandon him so heartlessly.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

‘ Women first, in shipwrecks—and in love affairs,” he thought wryly, convinced that the mysterious girl who had brought the apes to rescue himself and Tarzan, was the latter’s mate. “Anything is better for me than starving here,” he concluded. setting out into the Jungle.

■ —By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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He struggled only a short distance when suddenly the ape-man dropped silently from the trees before him. Half smiling at Roger's amazed expression Tarzan said: “I’m back, my friend. I had to get the girl away, quickly. She seems unnerved about something.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

‘ It’s the result of snatching us from the cannibals’ mouths.” Roger made no comment, but thankful for the ape-man's return, merely asked: “What now?” “Now,” said Tarzan, ‘you’re going to do a thing you probably won't relish, but it ia impossible to proceed otherwise.”

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin