Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 15, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 May 1933 — Page 11

MAY 20, 1023

foIPI inG rOOL'ggg:

BEGIN HERE TODAY MONNTK O'DARE L*ssuttful *r)<l Jmjns, fail* sos Europe with hfr old friend. MISS ANSUCE COI!FY, ir:, mg ts, forge- DAN CARDIGAN !>o M Me believes has Jilted her for SANDRA LAWRENCE fr New Vrr M• ; .<■ encr.ii n*r -eri ARTHI! MACK! 'A lE, a Tdiddle-aged man of rai'h. She mee-•-him again on the boat and he obviously • rimire- her Mon rile r poor and the trip Is a Clndereiin adventure for nrr Bar ic home •he has left her mother. >lifer and two brother nnrt CHARLES Et STACK handsome t’STOtr.er in town who has p;. and ier .-.•ter.-;- . • The rich and iwn'.i; ,>rr Mine;.- CORINTH FANEWAY, a friend of Markenile s Is also on the •hip with her receritlv acquired husband. NOW on ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE ?Continuodi The Willistons insisted they Wouldn't stop over. Tad had a diroc! ors’ meeting in the morning, and .Sandra drove them to the 11:20, ■with I tan in the rumble seat beside the Williston girl. She v,a competent looking, rather mannish individual with coal black hair cut crisply away from a broad brow, and big, strong, delicate fingered hands. Dan liked her. Demanding a cigaret, she made a gesture toward the two in the front sea?. ‘Nice girl, Sandra,” she said briefly. "Lots of fun.” Dan agreed, impressed in spite of himself by the Willistons and their dictum. Williston At Cos. were “big people” in his father’s line. He had be n hearing of them since he was a child. He could not help being impressed with the fact that Helen Williston, who had everything and been everywhere, dubbed Sandra “nice” and "lots of fun.” “Can't see why she buries herself in this little town,” muttered Dan’s companion. a a a DAN had almost begun to defend Belvedere with the lieat, proper to a native son of the place when suddenly he remembered that lie. too, was anxious to get away. He mumbled something, thinking that Miss Williston must thing him a dull fellow. On the ride home he was unusually silent. Sandra, seeming to sense his mood, talked in desultory snatches. “Don’t you want to come in and have a cigaret?” she asked as they approached the Lawrence place. Dan roused himself. “Believe I Will. Then I’ll walk home. Need the exercise.” She ran the car into the big garage expertly, as she did everything, with a cleft turn of the wheel. Dan helped her out, conscious of the fine, taint scent which always hovered about her beautifully groomed hair and skin. Sandra was —well—perfection, in her way. She slipped her cool hand into the crook of his arm. Her vocie was very soft. “Worried about sometiling, Danny?” It was nice to know' someone cared. His mother now—his mother was too busy, too absorbed in her own plans, to care in the least what Dan's private feelings were. And Monnie—well, she didn't love him any more. That was finished. You closed the door on things like that. “Bored," Dan admitted in a troubled voice. “Wish I could light out, go some place where things happen.” “Ah, I don't know- that feeling!” Sandra was all sweet sympathy. Suddenly the girl came very close. Cool, fragrant and golden, she stood looking at him, smiling. “Can't you tell me all abuot it, Danny boy?” she asked. The man hesitated. Almost before he knew what was happening, Sandra was in his arms. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR THE second day out, Monnie, bundled in a rug, glanced up ftom her book to see the tall girl, Corinth Faneway, walking with hei husband. Young Mrs. Faneway wore the most exquisite of casual costumes of pale faun tweed. The little hat, set at precisely the right angle, the big, loose gloves and lowlieeled shoes were exactly right. The tall girl gave Monnie a nod and then, apparently obeying a sudden impulse, stopped beside her chair. “D'you know my husband. Miss O'Dare? Oh, I’d forgotten. Harris this is Miss O'Dare—” She gave Monnie a slow, dazzling smile, and the younger girl felt her vagrant charm. She had a sweet, high, careless voice and the manner of one with the world at her feet. Monnie felt drawn to her and yet curiously repelled. “I haven’t seen Arthur this morning. Have you?” The words seemed to have some significance which Monnie missed, but she colored slightly as she replied: No, she said, she hadn’t seen Mr. Mackenzie. Not at luncheon. “Probably in the bar.” supplied Harris Faneway. “Shall we have a look there?” They drifted on. with a casual nod. Monnie tried to read again, but tlie encounter had left her with a disturbed feeling. It was not envy she felt for Corinth Faneway—surely not that—but this other girl was so beautiful, sc sure of herself. She reminded Monnie in some subtle way of Sandra, although Sandra would have paled to insignificance beside her. Monnie did not want to think of Sandra now. She wanted to look ahead —not backward. Presently, putting her noyel aside, she went to find Miss Anstice. That lady was just waking from her nap. “Did you have a nice time, my dear?" she asked. “Such a wonderful rest I had. I feel quite refreshed!" Miss Anstice was patting her silvery curls into place. "Oh, I'd quite forgotten. Mr. Mackenzie sent a note by the steward—such a nice note—asking if we would dine with him tonight. Don't, you think that would be lovely?” Monnie said faintly that she thought it would be quite delightful. but her tone lacked enthusiasm, and Miss Anstice glanced at her sharply. The child must be feeling the motion of the boat, she decided. Monnie looked rather pale. Or. perhaps it had been that salmbn mayonnaise at luncheon. Miss An-

N-I4Z after every meal WRIGLEY'S

tice never quite trusted salmon mayonnaise— B B B ■jt yfONNIE could not have explained quite why she wished to avoid the magnificent Mr. Arthur Mackenzie. Surely, he was all that any one could wish in the way of a traveling companion. He was urbane, witty, wise, a man of the world, with a fund of amusing tales at his tongue's end. Perhaps it was, she thought, the way he looked at her. There was something in the glance from those dark, deep shadowed eyes which reminded her of a cat getting ready to pounce. Oh. but that was nonsense? She was letting her imagination run away with itself. The dinner frock she selected that night was one chosen with the greatest possible care when she had made a flying trip to the city to spend the money her mother had given her. It was of pale cream lace, demurely cut in front but sheared away at the back to show her lovely shoulders. It had been a bargain. One of those slim, cheap, effective frocks which the young wear so charmingly. She had been delighted on finding it. but tonight she was dissatisfied with her reflection in the mirror. The glass gave back the portrait of a girl with wide starry eyes under a gleaming cap of burnished bronze hair. Monnie had. of course, no jewels to wear, and her velvet wrap was an old one. Miss Anstice, in silver lame which marked her new prosperity, approved of her. “You look sweet enough to eat, my dear. The young men will be overwhelmed.” Monnie smiled politely. Miss Anstice was kind, but she hated her own looks. They were so ingenue—so unfinished, if s he had only the poise, the unmatched asurance of Corinth Faneway she would be content. “More lij>stick. my dear.” Miss Anstice urged. “You can carry it off. lit doesn’t look bold. Thank heaven, I’m not so old style as my sister, Lida. She thinks every woman who uses cosmetics is on the straight road to perdition.” Miss Anstice laughed her tinkling laugh. B B B ' |''HIC dining room steward who “*■ had seated them the night before conducted them now to a large round table decorated in gala fashion. Arthur Mackenzie, seeming taller and more imposing in his dinner clothes, rose to greet them. There were half a dozen others already at table. Among them, Monnie recognized only Corinth and Harris Faneway. Corinth was dazzling in a frock of scarlet. The gray-haired man next to Miss Anstice was a railroad president from the west. The tall red-haired woman with the flashing eyes whom Monnie had observed walking the deck with her Sealyham evidently was an actress. Corinth Faneway said to her negligently. “I loved your play. It was marvelous.” “Did you. my dear?” The redhaired woman flashed a smile around the table. She had a deep, thrilling voice and her pearls were magnificent, Monnie thought. She was startled, therefore, to hear Faneway’s whisper a moment later. “Woolworth's,” he murmured, jerking his handsome head in the direction of the red-haired woman. Monnie could scarcely believe he had spoken, so impassive was his lean brown countenance. She supposed he must be right. Probably if you were born a Faneway you knew all about such things. Monnie felt sorry for the red-haired woman. Perhaps she, too, didn’t belong in this group. Mr. Faneway, at least, seemed to regard her as an outsider. He was so elegant, so cynical for one so young. He seemed to have been born bored. (To Be Continued)

AW BY BRUCE CATTQN

\ MODEfRN novel that tells about life on a New England farm is usually pretty dark and dreary. Novelists seem to agree that no New England farmers have any fun, and in writing about them they generally spin gloomy tales of insanity, suicide, torture and slow death. All of which helps to make “As the Earth Turns,” by Gladys Hasty Carroll, a very surprising story. This novel of New England farm life is joyous and robust. Its main characters are not disheartened and perverse; they are stalwart and upstanding, living in harmony with the rich earth, drawing from their fields a spiritual sustenance which is none the less nourishing for the fact that they never talk about it. The book tells about the Shaw family of Maine; old Mark Shaw, the patriarchal head of the family, his daughter Jen, his son Ed—three people who couldn't imagine a life as satisfying as the one they have. To be sure, Mrs. Shaw is a weary complainer whom Eugene O'Neill might have invented, and young George Shaw has got off the track somehow, but they would have been unhappy failures in any place. By contrast with them there is Stan Janowskv. the Pole, who fits himself into Maine farm life and finds it very good. These people work hard and enjoy few luxuries; and they find life good, not in spite of those things but because of them. They represent the American rural tradition at its best. The tradition. Mrs. Carroll finds, is still full of life. “As the Earth Turns.” offered by Macmillan for 52.50. is the May choice of the Book-of-the-Month Club.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

UEKT SATURDAY,WHEN I "BUT, MRS HOOPLt-Yf ORE opL ™lt yZ COME: TO COLLECT YOUR TEED If HA.LI OK TW* NATIONS if COUNTRY'S Y A AND stall bill, ADD 604 M -BIS -DEALS ARE: A ■fc'SSEST L / TO r TOR LAUNDERING l FIGURED OUT ON V ARCHITECTS, M, TABLt_CLOTHS THAT YOU M TABLECLOTHS? I RESIGNED Hz} MARK. UP WITH PENCIL J \ RAILROAD SYSTEMS j BUILDINGS ON ( DRAWINGS AND FIGURES Jj t h aVE BEEN LAID OUT/ I OUGHT TO SERVE V ON'EM?—WHY, /cvoVSSpfv YOUR MEALS ON Af 1 THERE'S A CASE OF / now FOR ' SCHOOL SLATER) )AN ORDER FOR A j "PLANS OF -ta I MILLION TONS OF ,/ SKYSCRAPERS CL STEEL TOOK PLACE -Y JjSftTL > IN A RESTAURANT, o(_ an they drew up I A

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

® WELL,... IT'S ABOUT > / I'M SORRY, OSSIE.A fjjj Ca. LECTURE ? I OH-l WA£> \ SHUCKS-I SAVI-HE. X Cl BECAUSE he knows TIME. BUT'POP' WHAT DID YOU WALKIN' OFF \ BET YOUR s. MUS>TA BEEN / C:(t/. !i (WHAT MAKES] ( EXACTLY WHAT QUESTIONS M \ A wrrHntlTVrvi? / J - DO THAT MADE J WITH HIS BEST j DAD WASMT ) INTO ALL J l|. j/!J\ YOU THINK h (TO ASK ME .WHEW HE. WANTS {JT ‘ vvunwi / fy\ s him DO FISHIN' REEL, < SUCH AN \ KINDS OF \\| /j] ) 30 TA>e | V, TO FIND OUT WHAT S—V ~ IIL C THAT? J ( WHEN HE J AN6EL,WHEN ) MISCHIEF/j L// l 2 / . I’VE BF-FLM T smuell * ') poimg !! '' ' Tz~‘ ~ ' ''' IL . ■ • ... ' “ ‘,

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

( \ "TH/XIT. STREAM LINE BODY. 65 FOOT ) n XnXm_\ \ l\j LnJUA 1 ' vmetLßAS'e.. 40,000 Times V-A-J 1 J/ U AS AS THAT BASS N °T A EISA, BUT A MAMMAL. CAU&HT LAST SUMMER. g/, 500 GALLONS FLAT OIL IN TOP ' BRAIN £ N. I OF HEAD. lO COULD E.AT 1 I . FEET SARDINES 8Y TEETH ON la. DIVES HALF MILE/ OR MORE , UNDER OALI \ * DELOVJ SURFACE OF OCEAN FOR ONLY. COULD MEALS. LINES 61 ANT SOLID. SWALLOW} BLUBBER IS FOOT THICK-SNIN HORSE AT SOMETIMES TRAVELS IN SCHOOLS OF FOUR. 1 SO THIN IT CAN BE SCRAPED ONE GULP. OR F\\)E HUNDRED. OIL USED IN MAKING SOAR. \ Dl\T\\ EINGER. NAIL. VT" - ' ~

SALESMAN SAM

CiOUO UJER.E ALL SET To MAkESOME DOOOH, G-lRLs', I'LL A /RIGHT THIS OJAY J FOLKS, AND SEE. A J PT? F'SH Y HG.'/, GIRLIES, ') CHARGE TEN CENTS p, RERFoR<TPiNCE, AND CUHEN \ SAY THE. HIOST PET&UNDtNG SIGHT OF J V *J. , / ==: HERE' " , lir ' ~-

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

————— , - . . lIN 11 LOOW\N 1 GAto G'OOY AND 1 OFFERED 1 UovW, Hn r =— ,vi * YO VINO HIM GOME MONEY '. ISWfT YOU — 1 ' MIRROR ? THAT A DANOY ? \ TOLD Mdu r* A cT tRI HE'D E>E EROKE EEFORE LONG f

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

After they had made their way safely, miles from the boma, the girl declared “that it was not Usanga who discovered and captured me. He would have yfelt less fear of the giant flying machine and known how to wreck it."

THE INDIANAPOLIS TBIES

Into the trackless jungle the man and girl penetrated, worming their way over fallen tree trunks and through tangled underbrush, often on their hands and knees ... South of them, a number Af savage warriors were gathered about a British airplane.

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

MODQVJM I / SES? NSJE.LL ,THATS \— . tcF tCvE.MC'-/’ — V 's? I NAOOe.Htrsk rTp'l " |TT MOOPUKI l NEEDS II ' ] EFF\C\EKiCW. ; A " L — \SO MUCH INSuRANCE.. / , vnhw tav<& v y I FOUR lOADS, I 1 when One'll / yfV-, A , EJ2 y'Tji. ’.I 'i, T CP ~

- ( CRACK SER BACKBONES'. SPLIT YER SIDES! Njar/LSI/iW I X V PULL, BLAST YE 1 FULL'. ANY MAN AS GITS ' ‘ v /J I^A' FLARED. I'LL KNOCK ’IM / _ ' / WoFF TO BATTLE THE MIGHTIEST , monsters on the face oe the earth. REG U. S. PAT. OFT. * -I y €) 1933 BY NEA SERVICE. INC * J

VIHERE'b YER BRING,n' I INELV -GEE toVWL -A f OH WELL-09 OR DOWN. 1 OP ? DOnVcHA KNOW I he AT * *■ BETTER'N T'laugh W I ME WHEN HE. k TTT A GUY WHEN HE'g J Wdi UP . £7 \W ' ~ ■ 11 ...... 1

After the aviator was brought to Numabo's village and Usanga heard how Roger had been captured, the deserter-sergeant went out to search for the plane, intending to destroy it. But when he located it, anew thought entered his brain. Perhaps he could profit by t his.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Daily he returned to it. First the thing filled him with considerable awe. But eventually he came to look at it with the accustomed air of its owner. So fearlessly he clambered into the fuselage, even wishing he might learn to operate it. Then another thought camp to him.

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin