Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 9, Indianapolis, Marion County, 22 May 1933 — Page 11

MAY 22, 1 rm_

PflßunG Tool

w _,„, * f, IN - mm TODAY MONK A O'DAHE 20 ai.rf bfauMful. Is :r. In-.* writ DAK CARDIGAN. h-ir to * :ocal f-.rtunr r . rr, rcrft.*• *nsaßta. BILL O'DARE worr>s hi* mother Plamunr to marrv ANGIE GILLEN wnp n> not • SASHKA LAWRENCE who pr'leeris of Monr.tc'a fi-nd is trvir.g ’o w;n I'n from her. Sandra dischargps two servants and thws trv *o kidnap her escape* I)ai; * mother and *. <-r P-' ! n a trip to a Wyoming dt;de ranch. Sandra is to accompany them Dan not v „..t to go but fina.'.v U perauaded MISS ANBTICE COREY an old friend ff lit O'!>.•:< uihcr 's < " 000 and > Monnie to go to E trope with her. CHAI pa vs Monr.it *ttent.on She is not interested •.. ait,ng and waiting lor a letter !s m Dan. NOW GO ON WITH lIIF. STORY. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (Continued.) “N-no” She admitted it, Reeking for words to paint her own feelings. ’ But being afraid you’re never—- . ever going to get what you want < it of life. That it's going to pass you by. That by the time you're 30 you'll be dragged out, old—missing missing—” She halted, the word trembling on her lips. Charles supplied it. “Missing love?” "Yfs.” Monnie looked at him defiantly. Lot him know her secret. He and guessed it already, anyhow. "Yes. Missing the one person you want. Lasing out because of, oh—little things. The right dresses, the right sort of place to entertain, the little things that make a girl pretty and wanted.” ‘‘Monnie!” Charles Eustace's tone *as almost amused. “That's not love—what you’re talking about.” ‘‘Oh. but it is, it is! You don’t Understand!” a a a * v T'HAT," explained Charles gently, ‘‘is kid stuff - . Popularity going to dances—that sort of thing. Ho you suppose,” he inquired, “Id pass up a girl I really cared about just because she didn't, have the right sort of frock? As if that mattered!” “Not to you, perhaps,” said Monnie stubbornly. “Not in theory, either, to any man. But it’s what attracts.” She tried to strike a lighter note. No good bringing her own problems into this. “Look at Kay,’ she said impersonally. “She’s beautiful and clever and good. Sh : ought to be having splendid firms, enjoying herself. What happens? Night after night she sits at home with the rest of vis. She hasn't money to entertain or dress pro(>erly, and she lives on the wrong side of town. It’s not lair!” “Kay’s a darling,’’ said the man, and again Monnie felt the sudden, Irrational little twinge of pain. Abruptly, he turned back to their original argument. “Kay wants you to go abroad with Miss Anstice,” he said.*. “She's told me so a dozen times.” They had reached the front gate now-. Monnie opened it, leaning on It, facing the tall young man in his perfectly cut, careless tweeci clothes. “You're sweet to be so interested,” she said. “1 wish I couid.” She was struck, as she spoke, With the curious look he gave her, a blend of kindness and exasperation—and something else. She could not define it. Something hung between the pair for an instant —some unspoken thought—some tension of feeling. Monnie shook herself, breaking away from flic spell of those brilliant, almost mocking, dark eyes. “I must go in,” she said in confusion. “I’m late, as it is.” Charles lifted his hat and as he turned to go, Monnie forgot him, forget everything. Mark O'Dare, freckle faced, tousle-headed, dashed down the path, bound on some concern of his own. “Mail for you, Monnie,” he yelled. Her heart began to thud. The long-awaited letter had come at last! CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT SANDRA said, “You’ve been awfully sweet to mo, Danny.” Her voice broke a little on the words. She was leaning against the fireplace, the sweep of gray stone behind her throwing into high rebel the perfect contour of her honeycolored head. The flames from the big logs threw shadows on the blue velvet lounging pajamas she wore, and Dan thought, quite idly, that she made a graceful picture. He was in riding clothes, casual and smartly western, even to the big handkerchief knotted about his throat. They were alone except for the Chinese servants. His mother and the rest of the party had gone to see a picture .show at Benning, eight miles away. "It’s all right,” he said rather awkwardly. “Glad to do anything I could. You had a rotten time of It. and you've been a good little soldier.” "Do you honestly think so, Dan?” Her eyes shone. This was the praise she wanted above all else. “Os course I do.” Dan reflected that it was something of an effort supplying Sandra with the moral courage she needed. Only this morning. his mother had said to him firmly. “You’ve simply got to pour confidence into that poor nervous child, son. She’s splendid but she had a shock, and it is our duty to see her through this bad time.” Ever since the kidnaping, Sandra had been having "bad headaches" and “wretched nights." It was not. she said with a charmingly patient smile, at all like her to go to pieces this way. The others agreed and pointed out how brave she had been through the dreadful experience Itself. Now —well, Sandra needed Dan to lean cn. needed him at her side when they rode. She seemed perfectly content, perfectly happy when he was murmuring in her ear. when they sat at table, side by side. "You’re awfully good to me.” she would say softly with a sidewise glance at him. Dan felt, in a puzzled way, that he was committing himself to something without knowing what it was all about. "Sure you didn't want to see that

picture?” he said now, hoping to change the subject, “No, honestly,” Sandra said with pretty eagerness. “I’m perfectly j content—perlectly—just to sit here and talk. Isn't it cozy?” a a a DAN agreed, stuffing his pipe, and settling himself in the big leather chair opposite. “Just like." giggled the girl in blue velvet, “Just l.ke old married folks.” She shrugged her shoulders and murmured delicately. "Honestly, Dan, I don’t know what’s got into me lately. I—somehow I seem to be changing. This time last year I thought of nothing but tearing around. I was in Monte Carlo in October—having the most wonderful time. And now—” Dan prompted her. “And now what?” “Well, I seem to be perfectly contented with the simplest sort of things. Books and good friends—” Her limpid gray eyes besought him to understand. Dan, sensing dangerous ground, said gruffly, “what about Monte Carlo? Did you have a good time there? Father wouldn't, take us when we were over. Said it was a gambling hell, and he didn’t want us to go near it.” “Oh. Dan, how quaint!” Her laugh rippled. “I can’t imagine—” She broke off suddenly to say Quickly that of course his father was a dear —so upright—so charming, but Dan had to admit he was a bit old-fash-ioned. “I’d love to show you the place,” she said with enthusiasm. “Oh,, the times I had on the Riviera last autumn! It was all too marvelous. There was a count who rushed me frantically. “Honestly, Danny, I almost took him up. He was the best looking thing! And there were two Englishmen—don’t you ado’-e the British?” she broke off to inquire. “Can’t say I do,” said the man. “Considering that my forebears came from County Sligo, I’m not so crazy about them.” “Weli, I do—simply adore them. You’re rather like an English country gentleman yourself, Dan. Big and taciturn —and handsome.” “Oh, cut it, won’t you?” growled Dan, pleased in spite of himself. Sandra’s light laugh rippled again. “I never saw such a boy,” she declared. “Just a great big bear. That’s what he is!” a a a DAN grinned, reflecting it wasn’t so bad to have Sandra talk that way to him when there was no one else around. Honestly, she was kind of cute when you got right down to it. Entertaining. And she didn't seem to have any moods—was always bright and charming. As his mother had said, Sandra had had a great many advantages. She could chatter French in a way to excite Dan’s envy and alarm since he had never mastered the college course in the language. She intimated that her German was excellent also and that she managed to make herself perfectly understood in Italian. Dan wouldn’t know about that. But it did seem that Sandra did everything well. She rode and swam “like a streak,” Dan said. She played a marvelous game of contract. She could sing. She had taken tap dancing and fencing lessons in New York last year. No doubt about it, the man who married Sandra would have a beautiful and accomplished wife. That was the way Dan still thought of her—as some other man’s prospective wife. Never, for an instant, had he seriously considered her as his own. She left his pulses unstirred. All her pretty ways, her exquisite clothes, her charming imperiousness were lost on him in that respect. As an onlooker, he admired her performance quite impersonally. But it was Monnie, he reflected, whom he really loved. Monnie with her bright hair, her way of looking at you—of telling you how she felt about something. (To Be Continued)

A M/ 6Y BRUCE CATION

THE mystery story fan gets pretty bad fare, most of the time, I but once in a while he does get a j break. And one of his bits of good forjtune this month is contained in I "Death Tolls the Bell," by Paul McGuire (Coward-McConn; $2). Here is that rarity, a good detec- ; five story which is puzzling, ingenious. suitably scary and written so that a literate adult can bear to read it. The scene is an English country town. The village church bell starts ringing at 2 in the morning, and when people go to investigate they find lovely Stella Essington, movie star, dangling from the rope, neatly and permanently hanged. Most of the subsequent investigation is carried out by one Hupper, a gangling novelist who keeps ten pet cats, drinks vast quantities of | beer and believes in a personal | devil. | During the story Sir Appleby ; Flap, financier, also gets bumped j off. and there's some sinister spiritu- ! alistic business to give the yarn an j eerie touch. All in all, the story is I eminently readable. Another mystery that's better- | than average is "Murder Must Advertise." by Dorothy L. Sayers tHarcourt-Brace: s2h In this one, a bright young man in an English advertising agency falls down stairs and dies, and no one but Sir Peter Whimsy suspects that his death wasn't accidental. The book is really more interesting for its picture of life in an advertising agency than for its mystery, and the murder itself is I accomplished in a quite impossible way: but if you can stand Sir Peter Whimsy you’ll find the book ! well worth your while.

1 OUR BOARDING HOUSE

( UAW NOW. YOU SCOVPERS f * 300 P\ / YOU GAVE f YOU JACKALS OP CUTTING JIBES/ }T PROM THE [f TH* MOVING HEW-HEH—' TOU WOULDN'T buy * 1/btRGHEIfA !% SCRAP RILE: j l MY AUTO,WHEN i OFFERED IT U JEWELRY T <? 3A£ON V l > TO YOU FOR -—NO —YOU | CONVPANY / jl I SAW HIM \ HOWLED NAE DOWN) WITH LOUD / —HOW DOES A AN A PAL L AND COARSE GUFFAWS K THIS TIE \ \ WELL, CAST YOUP CYNICAL /UR WITH O ] w . TW %

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

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Roger saw the great cat veer in his charge as though to elude the naked savage rushing to meet it. Sheeta s intention was to make good his kill before attempting to protect it from Tarzan. Then, with increasing wonder, the British Lieutenant saw the ape man swerve!

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

He saw him leap for the spotted cat as a football player leaps for a runner. He saw the strong brown arms encircling the beast’s body. With the impact, the two rolled over and over upon the turf. He heard the snarls and growls of bestial rnmhqi-

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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Horror-struck, he realized that the sounds coming from the man could scarce be distinguished from those of the panther . . . “Can’t we help before that beast KILLS him?” cried Olga. A thought came to her and the Red spy ran toward the hut

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Roger saw the raking talons of the panther searching for the man’s flesh. The man used every artifice to keep his body out of their range. The muscles of his arms knotted under the brown skin. The veins stood out upon his neck and forehead. He looked to be the loser!

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin