Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 17, Indianapolis, Marion County, 31 May 1933 — Page 13

MAT 31, 1933_

DflßLinG Fool

BBOIN HF RF TOOAT MONNIE O DARK. bmiMful and rniina Mil.* for Europe w.'h her o.ri friend Minß ANT-TICT PORFY 'o trv to forget DAN CARD JO AN mho Momne wllfvf* haa hrr for SANDRA I.AWPFSTK In Sr i York t**for* **Uing Monnif ARTHUR MACKENZIK. a midd>-ae*d man of She inert* fc:m asa;n on thr boa* and hr oh* on* * adn " her Mor.nJa i* poor and the *r;p ;• a Cir.Wfiin adver*ore for er Ba'c home ahr hat >f* her mo'r.rr >r and to brother a CHARIBfc EUBT ACT.. handaomr newcomer to town her orchid* and comet to *<*c her off at the at a Mon Meanwhile Sandra 1% ■ t-rlvtncr to win J>an and ’ak;ng ad*, ar^ntt' 1 of Monme * • hterre Sandra tella Dan that Monnie nd E iatare are pi.gaged NOR OO ON WITH TIIF 3TOR V CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (Continued) “I’ve heard ail that before,” Sandra said in a note of pettishness. Then her demeanor changed, became gentler “I>an ( don't let’s quarrel about Monnie and her people. After all, it's none of your affair what they do or what they have been. That's in Charles Eustace’s book now, isn’t It?” “So I hear,” muttered Dan. “Well, but of course, it must be true,” the girl cried gaily. “Charles saw her off. Every one In town knew that. He sent her orchids, too. You know what It means when a man In this t#>wn sends a girl orchids.” “Guess I do.” Bitterly, Dan was reflecting that he hadn't had the gumption ever to send Monnie flowers Why hadn't lie? He was quick enough to send them to the tfirls in his own crowd for anv casual reason No, he hadn't valued Monnie enough —hadn't known her true meaning in his life until she had gone away. Almost he groaned aloud. “What did you say, Dan? ana HE became alive. “Nothing,” he . said. “Nothing.” “Another sandwich, Dan.” “No, thanks. Got to be running along.” He glanced at his watch. “Good Lord, but it's late. I had no idea—” Sandra had risen, and now’ she slipped that, cool, long-fingered hand of hers over his big brown one. Her voice broke appealingly on the words she had to say to him. “Dan. don't be mad at me, darlin,” will you? 1 can’t bear that He said, "Os course not. Why should I be?" He could see pearls of tears trembling on her long lashes. Funny he hadn't thought of Sandra as the crying kind. She always seemed so sure of herself. He was touched. Nice of her to care enough for that. “It's just that I like you so awfully and hate to see you hurt.” Her pale, pointed face had a shade of wist fulness upon it. “Sure. I know.” Dan was embarrassed. ”1 just wanted to tell you this, dear," said Sandra quite simply and without apparent self-consciousness. “If ever you feel you want to talk things over with any one, why, I’m always around. Always friends, do you see?” She smiled up at him. “Os course. And thanks a lot.” Dan wanted to get away, and yet he was held, too. by some perverse charm In this girl. As lie walked home through the crisp autumn night, he tried to find his way back through the maze of words Sandra had used. Had she said Monnie’s engagement to Charles was definite? Dan wasn't sure. But women always knew about things like that. It must be so. And Sandra, disrobing in that exotic red and white boudoir of hers, smiled delightedly at herself in the mirror, pursing her lips in the shape of a kiss. Catching about her the folds of a creamy velvet negligee, she eyed her reflection with satisfaction. “Give me six weeks more,” .she promised herself. “Give me until Christ mas—” If any one had been watching, he would have wondered what Sandra planned to accomplish by the holiday time. Surely something splendid. Her color flamed and her eyes shone like stars. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX CHARLES’ thick letter awaited Monnie at the hotel in donCurious how her heart leaped at the sight of It. It must be, she told herself, that she expected from Charles some news of Dan. Yes, that was the reason. The square white envelope, the bold, irregular black handwriting were eloquent of Charles' personality. The letter, too, was filled with characteristic phrases. Miss Anstice’s voice aroused her. “I said, my dear, that if we are going to make the Cheshire Cheese for luncheon we'd better hurry. That must be a very fascinating letter. You've read it three times, and I’ve been speaking to you for five minutes without getting your! attention." Monnie blushed. “Fibber! I only • just, finished reading it the first j time” “Well, anyhow we've got to be starting. I'm perishing for food. The Tow er of London was very in- j teresting, but I'm a wreck. I said I would do all the tourist things, and I’m doing them though it's hard on me.” .lonnle tucked Charles’ letter in the bottom of her overnight bag among her creams and brushes. He'd said he missed her—but he hadn't said a word about Dan. Gossip about home, about Kay and her mother and the boys. The Watermans had given a party on the 17th, and Kay had looked lovely in some yellow thing. Kay and Charles! Well, that would be nice, too. Why did her heart suffer that queer little pang at the thought? It was Dan whom Monnie wanted —Dan whom she loved! Pride was all very well. It sustained you sometimes, but not when you were aching desperately for news of the loved one. Why hadn't Charles mentioned Dan? Probably; he. like every one else, thought Monrde had gone away to forget about

SWEETENS THE BREATH N-I4Q

Dan. Well, every one was rightonly the plan didn’t work as well as she and hoped it would. an n COMING, Miss Anstice!” Monnie crowded her small green hat, the one Miss Anstice had insisted on buying for her in that Bond street place, over her bronze curls. She looked well she told herself critically. Quite the young-woman-about-London. A year ago. if any one had told her a single one of these fairy-tale happenings were to take place she'd have laughed at him. Well, here she was thousands of miles away from home, going to smart places, eating rich food, being feted Yes, feted! Hadn't Arthur Mackenzie given a dinner party for her the night before at the Ritz 0 Wasn't he taking her this very evening to dine and dance at one of the new night places—the Chib Cavendish, or something like that? Monnie liked Arthur Mackenzie now—wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Maybe his dark eyes had lost that predatory look which at first had frightened her. He played big brother for her these days. Oh, she knew he was spoiled—she could see that but it didn’t matter. He was inclined to pout, quite like a big baby, at the first hint of not getting his own way. “Women have spoiled me. Monica,” he had told her, half laughing, the night before as they danced. “You’re the first one who ever kept me from having my own way in all things.” That was funny, Monnie thought —funny that she, a small town girl, should be the one to hum'ole this king of finance. What, he had been speaking about in particular was her stubbornness in standing out against him w’hen he'd wanted to buy her that fur wrap the morning before. He had come upon her and Miss Anstice, trailing along Bond street looking in this window and that, and had insisted cn accompanying them upon the foray tc buy the hat. The mannequin in the fur wrap had strolled past them at Mackenzie’s bidding. Monica had crowed softly at sight of the wrap —a deep, soft fur, cuddling the thin cheeks of the blond English girl who wore it. “Splendid for foggy weather, eh?” Mackenzjf ■ had asked with a twinkle. “Oh, excellent for that, sir.” the saleswoman had chirped, and the mannequin had given Monnie an envious sidelong glance. “Try it on, Monica,” the man had urged under Miss Anstice’s clear, critical gaze. “Nonsense.” She had been very sturdy about it. “No use making myself unhappy. I should be remembering always how it felt.” He had smiled again at that. “But I'd like you to have it. Little remembrance of this trip.” Monica had not needed to look at Miss Anstice to know that the prim little lips were pressed together even more primly. Her own conscience had risen in protest. “Sorry. I couldn’t possibly—” She had thought with a flash of amazement that the glance the mannequin gave her held something like contempt. nan A FTERWARD, Miss Anstice had 11 been downright strange about it. She had said in a dimly regretful tone, “What a pity you couldn't have accepted it from him, Monnie.” At the girl’s exclamation of surprise she had hastened to add, “Naturally I know you couldn't! But, after all, he’s so nice, takes such an interest—and you would have looked so lovely in that. Quite dazzled Belvedere.” Monnie gave the older woman a hug. “Miss Corey, I'm surprised at you! ” “I know. I’m surprised at myself. But I guess I’ve got my values a bit mixed on this trip. I’m getting soft with so much luxury.” (To Be Continued)

ATW 6Y BRUCt CATTON

THE happiest town that Robert Marshall has found is the tiny village of Wiseman, an isolated hamlet away up in the Alaskan wilderness north of the Arctic circle. It is about as lonely a spot as a man could find; it has no riches, no prospects and few modern conveniences. but its handful of citizens get a whole lot of fun out of life. Marshall tells about it in “Arctic Village,” a strangely fascinating and deeply interesting book. Wisman is in the upper valley of the Koyukuk river. This territory is as large as Massachusetts and New Jersey combined, and has a total of 127 inhabitants. About seventy of them are whites and the rest are Eskimos. Gold mining and fur trappping are the major industries. The winters are more than seven months long. There are no roads, no automobiles, no radios and no movies. Marshall spent a year in Wiseman, and took notes assiduously. He tells how whites and Eskimos live on a plane of equality. Their children attend schoool together, the adults dance together at community festivals. All of them share in the strange freedom of the frontier. In the Koyukuk a man is. quite literally, his own boss, and his neighbors are his friends. The result is a remarkable high average of happiness, and it is the virtue of Marshall's book that he analyzes this happiness and shows just how and why it exists. Published by Smith & Haas for $3, “Arctic Village” is the May book of the Literary Guild.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

YOU GOULDNT DRAG THAT TWE- WAY—I THOUGHT MONEY XsNM PRObA ME. WITH ' \ YOU WER.E GOING TO "BUY I I A TRACTOR f— I DIWT SOME NEW CLOTHES WITH L > BUY ANY CLOTHED BECAUSE THE YOU WHEEDLED ] > I NOTICE TPE STYLES ARE OUT OF fiAE f<—- NOW, If "RUNNING TO LEG-OF~MUTTON pt— } IE YOURE NOT GOING \ SHOULDERS AND POTATOTO USE THAT MONEY IN CW ' P U ATS, SO ILL WAIT \ the NEAR FUTURE, I J( FOR MONTH, AND I CAN r J WOULD LIKE TO BORROW IT, V> WEAP CLOTHES I WAS | | —.,l^.— 1 _ ' f . " I’ /’ f)" : ' \ * ’ JI, NC. I.C _

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

.. M0L ..,. n wA 7 AT YOU, -K ME Okie THAT J NOTHIN), THIS ONE. .A f " D g ) ' MULES WEkIT % / HAD THE CHICKEk) HE HAD \ \AA OHOHOOhIQ V OSCAR I HE SAID HIS \ JAV'S UNCLE BEN SAID HE WAS JN. JSO FAST TH/£T \ CHICKENS WAS DROWNED, E>UT ) \ \LkHALjA ABA S * J UNCLE BEW J DRIVING TO TOWW,WITH HIS TEAM ) HE KEPT IN ATO DO NOT A DROP OF \ H Y_ 7 a-K L told him' \ OF MULES HITCHED TO A WACOM J V FRONT OF )s WITH T? RAIN EVER TOUCHED J A\\\ I/// T HAHAAWA'/ ) WITH A COOP OF CHICKENS ON m THE RAIN.... f L JAY’S UNCLE y £ V \ ') THE BACK WHEN A 816 J - =: L N/ L &E*4 f ?

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

la— L L. 2SV-H r A i OU e' 6 \ LlN£ - MOR - e LINE! TUPLE &OATLOAPS OF U HE* LINE A6OARP. y BKL ACHES NOT SO YARDS j

SALESMAN SAM

n ah’. They COM£! AWOSAHmsN OtRAB a HOLD. G-IP.LE\ ) n <aH~pN ( <SfL6AT STunT fella I Y AND LUCKY,TooI iTe a CORA, GoTTA act OUICK/CAUSE There'S A - pretty /<3ooo ThinGt-th' doughnlTTs :r., . H..KO. ft , S—ART I A To BE

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

ONG f 1 ( NOT? ONE f W hVo, I ’'.O . 1 HMMA MOST PEMAQKAELE 6M3.L^ cWNirT°r\On I !<=, IMO WOtiY 6W M 6\OOY 1 6\OOY jf—j |P SHE \S AVOxOINC* ANY 1,, 1.,' - ;.■'

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

|

Olga was almost crushed with disappointment. To have been thus close to safety and then have all hope snatched away by a cruel stroke of fate seemed unendurable! The man was disappointed, too. but more was he angry. He demanded, to know where were their officers.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

She repeated the white man's question in native dialect. Usanga grinned. “YOU know where they are, woman," he replied. “They are killed. And if this white man does not do as I tell him, he, too, will be dead. I want him to teach me to fly like a bird.’’

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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The Englishman meditated a moment, then said: “Ask him if he 'will give us our freedom if I teach him.” Cunnirtg and unprincipled, Usanga was always ready to promise anything. 'Let the white man teach me to fly.” he said, "and I wnl take you dose to tjie settlements.”

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

When Roger heard this he shrugged his shoulders and agreed. "There is no way out of it,' he told Olga. “If I refuse the scoundrel, he will make short work of me. If I accept, it will be the means of assuring your safe return to civilization. is worth more to me.”

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—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin