Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 307, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 May 1933 — Page 17

MAY 4, 1933

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„ Brr.lN HFRE TOnAV MOKNIE O'DAPE. 20 and beautiful, F>**lps to support her youni brother and *l*tr by feorklng in a dr ie store Monnle 1* In lovr \ith DAN CARDIGAN rich *nd handsome but. he seems to neeiert her for SANDRA LAWRENCE, a member of hi* own *er BETTY. Sandra* maid, suspects her of ' vamping JIMMY, the chauffeur. CHARLES EUSTACE new in town, is kind to Monnle and Kay. her younger aister. CHAPTER ELEVEN (Con.) “You moan Sandra?" Bill asked incredulously. Angie nodded. “Might not be far off,” she said. “Jimmy's pretty swell looking in that trick suit with the brass buttons. Anyhow. Hetty thinks he is. find that makes it so. She’s a oneidea girl. If Miss Lawrence is smart, she'll lay off. Hetty might go ‘unny on them and it wouldn't be so good.” She interrupted herself <o say swiftly, “Look. Bill, you better let me drop you by the station. Stan’s coming over tonight to talk about things. Maybe we'll get something settled.” “You've known that all afternoon and you only just sprang it on me now,” Bill accused, black as a thunder cloud. As Angie slowed the car, he jumped out and stood beside her, very tall and grim and angry, above her w r hite beret and flying yellowcurls. "Sure I did, but you had such a grouch I didn't dare,” she informed him with insouciance. She was pretty in a candy-box way, this girl with the starry eyes and preposterously plucked eyebrows. She had a gamin, elfin appeal In spite of the cheap gayety of her outfit. “All right," Bill growled. “If that’s the way you feel about it. Nobody's going to two-time me and get away with it.” He lifted his hat. Without another word he strode away in the direction of the station. The afternoon train was just pulling in. As Angie watched, he jumped casually aboard. She sat there, a small, ingenuous looking creature in summer white, staring after him. Angie swallowed hard. Once. Twice. “Oh, Bill,” she wailed under her breath. “Why did you do that?” CHAPTER TWELVE KAY said, “I don’t believe a word of it. You’re just being nice to me.” She went on. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls you meet,” and 6miled to show she didn’t mean it. The young-old man in the doublebreasted suit grinned at her. Faultless was the necktie, striped and shining. Faultless the set of his sleek black hair. He had little lines around his eyes, and his cheeks wore that too-well-barbered look. He had the air of weariness that comes to a man who stays up late of nights and talks too rapidly of days. He said, “Baby, you’re the prettiest thing this side of Chicago. Know what I mean, you've got class. Lots of ’em in the front row of choruses would be jealous of you.” Kay walking down High street In the neighborhood of Vernon’s drug store, took one swift look ahead before she plunged. There w r as a good deal of traffic (for Belvedere) at this time. It was* 4 o’clock. The high school long since had disgorged its chattering, brightclad throngs. Shabby, ancient cars nosed the sleeker sedans belonging to the young matrons of Belvedere’s “younger set.” Kay did not want to be seen with this man, the traveling salesman who supplied Belvedere’s one department store w r ith silk stockings. Belvedere would not understand, said Kay to herself. Especially Monnie. Os mother. Still, she didn’t know' what they objected to. He was polite—as nice as he could be, really. And he made the boys in Kay's class seem awfully raw and awkward. He was what she and her classmates called “smooth.” He had a line and knew when to use it. How old was he. Kay wondered? Thirty-

7TSODK AW BY BRUCE CA.TTQN

IF H. O. WELLS should write a frothy and perverse novel of the infidelities and abberations of Mayfair society, the reading public would be entitled to grow popeyed with amazement. No less surprising is Michael Allen's new novel, “Man's Mortality.’’ 1 That Michael Arlen should write shell a book is just as astounding as that about-face by Mr. Wells would be. For this is a novel in the Wells manner: an ingenious tale of the future, full of 2.000-foot airships, a world-ruling financial organization and a lot of deep-dish speculation abount the future of mankind. Mr. Arlen takes us some fifty years into the future. The world is governed by an outfit called International Airways. War has been abolished. International Airways works hand In glove with the peace—and, incidentally, to roll up fat profits. Nations are governed by groups that function much like boards of directors; bolshevism, democracy and fascism have all been abandoned. But it all cracks up. The new regime is too hard-boiled: the mass of mankind is too cranky. Someone invents an invulnerable fighting plane, and the whole business dissolves in anew world was on a terrific scale. And Mr. Aden's conclusion is that it can't be helped. Mankind, he says, must be allowed to cut its own throat. World states, capitalistic leagues to enforce peace, international controls —none of them will work until the race has at last convinced itself of the futility of force. If few will be left alive to reach that conclusion. it is just too bad. Published by Doubleday, Doran & Cos., this book costs $2.50.

I pWRICIEY’S mmm £' NOW EVEN BETTER

five, maybe? Forty? You couldn't tell. She and Clarissa Birggs had “Just run into him” one day at the Sweet Shoppe. They had been giggling over maple nut sundaes, Kay was conscious of the fact that she should have saved her allowance lor new shoes instead of frittering it this way, when they saw him. He had come in, glanced about Inquiringly, and then come straight over to their table. She ana ’Rissy had pretended to be annoyed. “The nerve of him!” they had said afterward, with well simulated amazement. But he had carried it off well. He had insisted he’d met Rissy the last time he’d been in town and that she didn’t remember him. “That’s the way with you girls,” he said, pretending to be chagrined. “Out of sight, out of mind.” He had been talking to 'Rissy, but looking at Kay. She had, she remembered, looked rather well that day, in the red beret and new sweater suit, the one Monnie had given her for her birthday. Sixteen—she had been sixteen in May. That was the first tme she had realized, actually, that 16 was almost grown up. Os course, she and ’Rissy had played for a long time at being sophisticated, bored with everything, women of the world, but she hadn't, until she met Chester Bigelow, actually appreciated the fact that she was almost a woman grown. Old enough for serious beaux, not just high school kids whose idea of a gay evening was to hop into a S2O touring car with most of its parts missing and ride out to High Springs for a bowl of chili con came. a m CHESTER was different. Why wouldn’t mother understand about him? Kay had never, somehow, dared to bring him home. Not that Chester had showed any desire to be introduced, formally, to the family. Anyhow. Kay had the feeling that would spoil everything. The romance would vanish if Monnie and mother, and Bill and Mark looked Chester over coolly. So she met him downtown whenever his route brought him to Belvedere. Sometimes he rented a car and drove down. Kay was a bit afraid to go riding with Chester. If her mother heard—if Monnie saw them—if Bill happened to find out —! Not that it wasn’t perfectly all right. Chester was “simply a peach” and all that, but the family wouldn’t understand. Did families— 1 - ever? Thus Kay. Now on this warm June afternoon she began to feel a trifle nervous about the whole affair. Chester was being insistent on seeing her that evening. “But I can’t possibly,” she demurred. “We're having exams—all week. I’m up to my ears.” She thought of the classroom, warm, crammed with perspiring youths and maidens nibbling pencil points. Bees would be humming outside the windows, hovering over the Dr. Van Fleet roses, which were the principal’s particular pride and joy. The teacher of the moment would be hot, sarcastic, edgy. “Oh, I hate it all!” she burst out, suddenly, surprised at her own earnestness. “Not me, baby!” Chester, his dark eyes bold and smiling, pressed his arm close to hers. “N-no, not you.” She smiled reluctantly. “Just school—this old town—all of it.” “Isn’t that what I'm always telling you?” His slightly nasal voice, softened now, rushed over the words. “Aren’t you wasting your time here when you might be doing something in the big town? Lots of girls no older’n you are in the choruses. Fact is, they like ’em as young as they can get ’em. Maybe this time next year you’d be married to a millionaire if you tried it.” 8 tt tt DANGEROUS talk this, for pretty, poor, proud 16. Dangerous whispers for the small ears of Kay O'Dare, who wasn’t a “grind,” who wasn't clever at her books, whose fortune was in her hyacinthine orbs and her small twinkling feet. She said slowly, “You’re kidding me, Chester. I couldn’t —I mean I wouldn't get over ” He interrupted. "Baby you're the money. What I mean, you could knock ’em silly in the front rows. I’ve got a friend in the show busi-ness-man like me gets around, you know ” The voice purred on, softly, insinuatingly. Kay thought of Miss Mahon who was head of the English department, whose bitter, edged tone had cut into her consciousnes that day. "Miss ODare’s notebook? But I didn't know Miss O'Dare had a notebook.” Kay had flushed scarlet, had stammered, hating herself, the teacher, everything! Was it her fault she wasn't brainy? Not everyone could be! Well, she'd show them all some day, all these old cats and foxes all over town. She'd show them what Kay O'Dare could do. They’d see her name up in lights, they would. They'd boast, priming their lips, “Oh, yes, I knew her, years ago—” She'd cut them when she passed them in the street. She could see a high-powered car whirring down a glittering avenue—herself, slim, long-legged, wrapped in furs—chinchilla, maybe. A man in livery would slip down from the seat, rush around to hand her out. Some nosey woman in blue serge would buzz up to her. “Aren't you little Kay O'Dare?” Kay would draw' herself up slowly and disdainfully, answering her, "You seem to have the advantage of me!” Miss Mahon (for it would be Miss Mahon) would slip away, quite crestfallen. "What's on your mind, sweetness?”

(To Be Continued)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

S'lLgul ~ / GOOD LUCK, LADS.... l THERE THEY \ ‘ ' - . \ I’LL TURN THIS CARGO \ ( <SO-BOY! IT ) EJuCLE COMM AMD OF OF CROOKS OVER TO ) P f GIVES) ME THE ■ HARRY £ I J THE Aj-T THE AUTHORITIES) ) V CREEPS TO BEE / TELLS) THE "(/ // SUBMARINE, IN SAM PEDRO... < l THAT THING J | jXLrj BOYS TO —ILJj (I 3 11 \ / , - head

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

y\s eAGN TRIES TO R\SE> THE MATE K’lCKifS U/ \ SftITH THF- OWW .’J ■ j---| He CAW FWP —A wfcTE-R IjUf-KET.^

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

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The rays of the jungle’s setting sun filtered through the boma wall as Roger Cecil awoke to find he had slept all day. Bestirring himself, he looked about for the ape-man—nowhere in sight. But to his utter amazement, he heard a woman’s voice cill his name, softly.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Turning, he saw the girl of the apes, standing in the hut’s doorway, smiling at him! A long moment their eyes met. Roger’s heart beat furiously—he could not believe his eyes nor find his vaice, at first. Then, with a glad cry, he ran to her outstreched arms.

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

I' - -*. NIGHT! "X Y OU.NO- i v : Wikjo Os A \/ 0-,,-r \ scfool is Tms? T&rT Boor V •' DO TW’ 'PvjPiLS ~ TI ’ A TEMSWVJM Aff/vV/ LEAQm MORE ASLEEP from ’em EITWEF? / VA\ f ! )// \ THAN USSEMIM’ ' \ M/A-y. J j - SCHOOL- DAZE. . © 1933 g> NLA SERVICE. INC. BEG U 5. PAT Off.

VS THEIR FIRST TASTE OF BRUTALITY ABOARP THE ship "Jonah”, yhes hame met thevr master, in 7IRTIEST, CRUELEST, MOST VICIOUS BULLY OF THE 7 SEA^

YtAH' 1 PEMEYiP.'EP . NOvm ’ SuQP 1 Pot H\b> ApY WOTCAA OH HO W ° HAAA-* THKt'p WH’tP’t tMYPYON't opCPYTARY LAGGHVN' AT, NOTHIN! '. L Xip' THOOGVW WAG GONNA EAT ON PHONED THAT S)VVY f OY EONNY HORGEP.ACK AN' TH' GOOY WAG U.Y _ Cy%3 I ; WANT ERG WERE T'gERME TOO Ay - AN’ j 1 ,fl %&/) v \f]h ’ : Th' GRUPi OUT OF I TH 1 avvanr _j \ iBB&b // > ( wca v■ e*T.orr. c 1 93] BY Wtx sonoeg. ,

He held the girl in his warm embrace. “Patricia —Pat, my darling. To THINK I have found you again,” he cried, covering her yielding lips with kisses. This moment, he told himself, was worth a lifetime of danger! At last the girl freed herself from his eager urms.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

“No more—PLEASE, my dearest.” she said. “HE must not find us this way. “Roger knew she meant Tdrzan, but at the moment he did not care —no, NEVER would she be the apeman's again. “Tell me,” he said when he could control his emotions: , "WHERE have you been? How did you get KEfiEr

PAGE 17

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martini