Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 3, Indianapolis, Marion County, 15 May 1933 — Page 13

MAY 15, 103?,.

DfIRLIRG FbOUll

BEGIN HE HI. TOD ' V , MONNHC O'DARE s* *• -rft.v p:iaa*d to DAN CARDIGAN her U> R lo™! fortune Drj, <lwn * *nt hi* narrr/s to xnow of *E> Rnßßßßmot-t * *'•'••• oono*** rhr miirr pgr Hr and Monf..f n;ari to elone In .Jar'ißr - . v hen h" will '"orriß into aotr.R mnnß’-' of h.'■ own Don i* tßSlou* of CHARLES EUSTACE nn' 1 - *omp nottßomor. who show* Monnie ir.arkßfl Rttßntion . BTU. ODAPK RnBRBRfi to ANGIE OTf.LEH tw rt • orrß * U 1: oendlnp Bill brim*.' Am-ls to m<rt hi* mo* her a* MRS O DARES rennet' She i* fi - mavß<l to f> nK of R.!i bemß in love with a married woman thoiißh a-iir.it-tine Are ' , Boodnev* of hear* VOW 1.0 OS WITH rm STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE t Continual. Her defenses down, she plunged forward, voluble, excited. Bill and she could get a little flat in the city. She could get another job—she always did—and there were so many big garages there. Bill would be sure to find work. She forgot to be careful of her grammar. She does love him," the mother thought. “She's really a good little thing. If only—” Even in her own mind she couldn’t finish the sentence. If only Angie weren't so palpably the prodduct of the wrong sort of training, or rather the lack of training, her rebellious heart cried out! Well, it couldn’t lx- helped. You didn't choose your son’s wife. In Mrs. O'Dare’s simple code, you made the best, of it. Bill came back in, awkwardly balancing a tray. He glanced anxiously from Angie to his mother, relieved at what he saw. “I ll have to be taking Angie back now, mother,” he said after an interval, glancing at his watch. “I promised Harnett Id be back at 6. He’s got to drive his wife to the Springs." He was relieved, she could see, that everything had passed off so smoothly. Poor boy, he had probably dreaded the ordeal! She kissed him, smoothing his roughened fair hair. Poor Bill, toil-hardened at 22, anxious, in love with the wrong girl! Well, it couldn't be helped. She sighed, watching the flash of Angie's sweater through the greenery. She would do the best she could. She simply would not think what, the loss of Bill's earnings would mean to the little family. Kay was beginning to help now. That' meant a lot. And poor Monroe! Well, there was no use looking ahead, borrowing trouble. You had to live each day as it came. It was the only way. a a p SHE went about, straightening cushions, picking up glasses, Kay came in, hair dripping wet from a swim. She had gone with Rissy down to the river. “Well?” Kay challenged her. “They’ve just gone.” Mrs. O'Dare sat down, sighing. “She’s really a good little thing. Kay. Only so so—’’ she hesitated for a word. “Ordinary.” Kay finished the sentence for her. "Ye.s.P Bill’s mother shrugged her shoulders. “It shouldn’t matter, I suppose, what she does with the language, but somehow' it does.” “Os course it does. Silly to pretend it doesn’t,” said practical Kay. “We’re all a little snobbish, really. What I can’t understand is why she doesn't bore Bill to tears. He’s smart, really. Likes to read and he’s always been so ambitious.” “I know. That’s the sad part.. In two years—or less perhaps—l'm afraid Bill will be wondering what he ever saw in Angie. You can't make him understand now. No use trying.” “Not a bit in the world,” Kay glanced at herself in the mirror. Her voice sounded grown up, Mrs. O'Dare reflected. Something had happened to Kay this summer. She refused to go back to high school, since Charles Eustace had managed to get this post at the library for her. Kay was old for her age. She would have been in her final year at school, but she proposed instead to go to night sessions and study when she could in the daytime. "I'm old enough to start helping," she had said practically. Last year at this time. Kay would have raged and stormed at Bill for having dared to shirk his responsibility. She gave her slick golden locks a final pat and turned to smile at her parent. “Well, that's that!” she observed. “That's that!” Her mother echoed dryly.

a tt it KAY rushed upstairs to change . her dress. She was invited to Dr. Waterman's house for tea. There would be older people there, Kay thought, but that wouldn't really matter. They were going to talk over plans for some amateur theatricals to be put on before Christ mas. Kay was terribly excited. The Watermans' house was one of the finest in town. The doctor was Charles' uncle. Not even Geraldine Cardigan had ever been invited there. Sandra was asked occasionally, when Lansing, the young son of the house, was home from college. Kay smiled at herself in the mirror, remembering how stunned Rissy had been when she had told her about the invitation—to Sunday night supper, of all things. Sunday night supper meant you belonged to the inner circle in Belvedere society. "But they'll all be as old as Methuselah.” Rissy had said, pretending she thought it was a terrific bore. Rissy had made her voice very disdainful. "Better call them up and say you can't come. Johnny Link's coming over in his Chewy and we'll get a boy for you. Come along,” Rissy coaxed. Kay had shrugged her shoulders, quite in the grand manner. Rollicking through the country lanes with a raw youth's arms around her seemed positively revolting. "No. thanks." she had said distinctly. Rissy had tossed her head and turned away. Kay dressed with care, making her hair a demure frame for her ivory-tinted face, ever so faintly sun-touched. Out of this frame her gentian blue eyes glowed. Things were better these days. She was in favor at home. Mon* nie was proud of her—they all were.

Who knew what these amateur theatricals might lead to? Kay could see a grea producer leaning forward from his seat in the back row, asking eagerly: “Who is the young lady playing the lead? Marvelous!” Someone would answer, “Kay O'Dare.” Or maybe she wouldn’t get the lead. Maybe she would distinguish herself in a small part—a maid or something like that. ■ Small Town Girl Startles Broadway!” She could see the headlines. Idly, staring at her reflection in the mirror without really seeing it, Kay dreamed on. Yes, much depended on the outcome of the evening. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CANDRA, in a deep chair of stick *3 willow with cushions daringly striped in yellow and orange, leaned back and regarded her caller thoughtfully. "I think you're perfectly right, Geraldine,” she observed, lighting a cigaret with a flick of her long, slim fingers. “I think people are talking, and it would be well to get him away.” “But that’s just the trouble,” protested Dan’s sister who, lean and vigorous in her white linen riding outfit, lounged in the porch swing. “He won’t go. Mother wanted him to go to Yosemite with her. He says he's too busy. Then my cousin May wrote us about this dude ranch. It's what Dan has always been crazy about—and I thought if you’d go along we could make up a party—” She left the sentence hanging Sandra's eyes sparkled. “It would be fun,” she said with enthusiasm. ‘‘You and I—and Danny and perhaps Lansing Waterman. He gets home next week. I wonder—” her eyes narrowed, considering. “I wonder if Charles Eustace could be persuaded to go, too.” “My dear!” Geraldine’s laugh held a touch of malice. “That would be perfect if we could swing it. Two birds with one stone.’” “Leave it to me!” Sandra got to her feet, smiling. “I’ll see what can be done.” Geraldine's voice held a note of envy. “You’re a wonder,” she breathed. “If you can do it, mother will be everlastingly grateful. What she says, of course, is that she could put her foot down—be firm with Dan about seeing her so much—but she would just make him mulish. You know how he can be! Just that touch of opposition,” averred Geraldine wisely, “might lead to something serious. Whereas—” Sandra finished the sentence for her, “Whereas,” she cried gaily, “we lure Danny off to this delicious place, have a grand time, and meanwhile, he forgets all about the girl back home.” “Exactly!” Geraldine’s lean, brown face, so like Dan’s, but without. the touch of softness which would have made her, as a woman, irresistible, flushed with excitement. a u a But they reckoned without their host this time. Dan was mulish, refusing to leave Belvedere for any prospect, however alluring. His father, consulted as to plans, brought pressure to bear, summoning Dan to his private office one golden August morning. Dan liked and respected his father. The keen-eyed graying man usually kept his hands out of household affairs, preferring to let his wife decide such matters. This time, however, he had not been allowed to choose the line of least resistance. There had been a conference in Mrs. Cardigan's dressing room the night before. This interview' was the result. “Dan, what’s this I hear about you not wanting a vacation with mother and the folks?”

(To Be Continued) 2T&GOK W BY BRUCt CAJTQN DARK INVADER,” by J- Captain Franz von Rintelin, sheds a revealing light on German espionage in this country during 1915 and 1916—and, in the shedding, provides a lot of exciting reading. The German spy scare in those days was a thing to frighten babies with, and Captain von Rintelin was at the bottom of practicallv all of it. . Sent to the United States early in 1915 to try to stop the vast exports of munitions to the allies, this naval officer posed as a Swiss citizen, established an exporting office in New York as a blind, and began a systematic and ruthless program of sabotage. His operatives planted incendiary bombs on steamers taking munitions overseas. They even succeeded in sinking some barge-loads of shells in New York harbor. They fomented a dockmen's strike which at one time almost paralyzed the whole munitions export business. So deftly did he operate that he once actually held a contract from the Russian government to buy and ship shells to Archangel. Needless to say, the shells never got there—-but Russian money helped the clever captain to carry on his work! The big drawback to it all. says Captain von Rintelin. was the stupid blundering of Captain von Papen, then German military attache in America, more recently chancellor of Germany. It was because of Von Papen's obtuseness, Von Rintelin declares, that —Von Rintelin—was finally arrested and confined in Atlanta prison for four years. This book is not only exciting; it is a valuable commentary on the way American neutrality worked to the advantage of the Allies before 1917. It is published by Macmillan, and the price is $2.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

r PARDON ME FOR W W mat/ YOU an' P 7 VOL) WERE TELLING I? Wf INTERRUPTING Pj T THAT OLD,"BENT WOW TVA PLUMBER/1 iff/ I WILL GIVE YOU f\ 'PEANUT "ROASTER"BV MISTAKE, LAT)S TWIS PINAV_S f AGAIN ( CONNECTED UP TH^ \ OPPORTUNITY TO f — WELL,FELLAS, j V PIPE T 0 TH ' f "BUY MY CAR AT / V AS I WAG SAYING 1 ( “ P [ PE ORGAN, V A SACRIFICE —/ ; —-WWEREDID I [l ° FF ONLY S4O f- ] LEAVE OFF, BEFORE J? MARCU H/7L ‘SPEAK UP V TWIS TRUCK CUT IN J V ut; i— s, j

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

LOOK TO YOUR RIGHT, Yf / LOOKS* LIKE LAND... Y’SrIA FRECKLES-WHAT DOES / l WHAT IS IT ? MEXICO OR THAT LOOK LIKE THE UNITED STATES ? J 1 TO YOU? J '^7 s ifs? r /-

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

TOM? WHERE’S f O’U- lEAPH TO TORM NtULAI f “ fill O'S SOON AS TBE DEAD WHALE >S H O°KS AND SLU6S AND KICKS AND STOMPS SECURED TO THE JONAH, THE MATE viz POOR TOM UNTIL HARDENED MEN TURN AWAY, ycOMES ABOARD, HOVPWG MAP. AL. SICK AT SIGHT. j

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

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Having nothing better to do, the American followed the caravan toward the bazaars. Perhaps. he thought, “I can pick up some souvenirs or a rug cheaply.” An hour later, satisfied with his bargaining, he was departing.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Then a great commotion amid an excited crown about a silk-draped platform attracted him. Edging through the throng, he saw a number of girls reclining upon cushions or undulating about, obviously displaying their charms.

—Bv Ahern

AR ID THE SOUTH AND 4 l ™many miles sehimd THEM, PLOWS THE YACHT 1 5ELKCERF * HEADING FOR SAN DIE6O TO AWAIT UNCLE HARRY'S RETURN \ uiwiji i i.i in nyyJ ~ •!/

OUT OUR WAY

( 4~~\ C ' <e ' LL mKE TOM ' S PLACE m boat, ’N' if > EVJER SEE YE SO MUCH AS TREMBLE AT THE V / yeSSIPTI JSI6UTA A WHALE, I’ll BAT TER BRAmt

ijfSfjUlfif | -y, a L £ 1833 BY ■■." ail i— ■

They were of various ancestry, color and comeliness. One by one as he watched, each slave girl fell to the highest bidder, claimed by some Turk, Arab, or other bearded son of the Prophet. Now the “auctioneer'’ began a long harangue.

' A C HE’S COMIW YEP? GEE ....I HOPE HE, WHILE IN HOME! HOT J ISN'T QRiNGSSOMETREASURE FRECKLES’ DO6 ! V THAT 1 FROM COCOS ISLAND! HOME TOWN ( SWELL y \ l E>ET HE j-s °F Pf V W J SHADYSIDE, ''4 jj L TAG ALONG U IS SHOWING * THE MMQ UNCLE HARRV& \L I’/ Q PLANE M Jr . RE G u. s. PAT. <VT. MF| , \ VjSV © 1933 BY NEA SERVICE INC. ) V V

C) ( TH’ 'N r & I 7 H Five.', J / /tJcpTse OR / f n cW* /

Evidently he was holding the buyers in anticipation. Then the silken curtains parted and Dick saw a lovely, slender, dark-eyed girl appear. As her veil was thrust aside, in startled amazement he cried' “My God! A European woman!”

—By \Villiam3

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs*

PAGE 13

—By Blosser

■ —By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin'