Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 18, Indianapolis, Marion County, 1 June 1933 — Page 15

JUNE 1, I!W3.

DORLinG Fooled

Hrnr ronv MON NIK O dare trains: ;I and -.oiinc Hjl* >W E iron* 1 with hr old ' i MISS ANSTK'F. COREY -n !r < DAN CARDIGAN 5* ho Monni** {"•Jilt'd hr for SANDRA I. A WHENCE In Now YorX beforr a:lii s Mofirsir rnccmnter* ARTHUR MACKENZIE a nudo,o ag. and man of wraith Sho moo's h:m *®ln < n i.ho bout and ho obvsouslv admirra h'r Mnnr.r !* noor and tho trip ia a Clndorolla advrniurr for hor Baric homo aho ha* 101 l hor molh*r. s;*tor and two brother? CHARLES EUSTACE handsome newcomer to town, ends h> r orchids and come, to see her off at the atatlon While Sandra at home Is taking advantage of Montile s absence to trv to win Dan from her Monnle s In I/tndon vrhere Mackenwc showers her with attention* NOW on ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (Continued) Tonight, Monnie was dining with Mackenzie alone. Miss Anstice was to go to the theater with some friends who lived in a hat in Kensington Gardens, and Mackenzie was to pick up Monnie at 8. At half past seven she was ready and restless. Miss Anstice, called for early by the Mr. and Mrs. Richardson from Cincinnati, had gone. The girl strolled to and fro, picking up a magazine, laying it down again. She glanced at the Dresden clock on the mantelpiece. How restless she was! She wished Mackenzie would come. Then she would have so much time to think about home —about mother and Kay and the boys, to wonder what they were doing. She was a selfish pig to be away from them all, enjoying this luxury. She would have to make it up to them when she got bark. But how? Suddenly, like a black vista, the years yawned before Monnie. What was she going to do with her life? With Dan out of it. she seemed aimless couldn’t make plans. She’d devoted heart, and soul to him, had wrapped up all her ambitions in him. This was, after all, only an interlude. She’d have to go back home to a dreary, humdrum job and make the most of it. What about her dreams of doing something splendid for her mother and the Test? She’d never be able to. nun SHF, w r rapped the dark velvet cloak around her as the pleasant British voice on the telephone announced Mackenzie’s arrival. "You look lovely, as always.” He was bowing over her hand. She was whisked into the inevitably luxurious motor car that always attended this man’s comings and goings. A soft rug was tucked around her feet. Mackenzie spoke through a tube and the motor purred" noiselessly. The car slid forward. Fog held the night, without, but in the small intimacy of the car the two people sat, warm and inclosed. "You’ll like this place tonight, Monica.” He had a pleasant voice, she reflected. Deep and resonant. "That’s one of the many things I like about you.” he continued with gravity. “Your youthful enthusiasm. I’ve known so many jaded people—sated with life. With you everything's new.” "That's because T haven’t been any place before,” the girl told him without self-consciousness. As they sat down at the candlelighted table with an obsequious pair of waiters hovering in attendance. she returned his smile with cue of honest likingHow nice this man had been to her! Last night at the party, Corinth Faneway had said to her with a curious high laugh, "Artie's taken a great fancy to you. Make the mast of it.” And when Monnie had looked at her curiously, the other girl had cried, gratingly, "Oh. don't be a little fool. He's all right, Artie is.” It must be true—the gossip she’d heard —that Corinth and Mackenzie had been in love with each other, although he was almost twice her age. But she was married to someone else now. It didn't seem to matter. "If I'd ever cared for anyone like that,” thought Monnie, "I should hate the thought of giving him up to someone else.’’ Suddenly, she realized that Mackenzie was studying her intently. "What is it?” he asked. "I've a bit of news for you, Monica?” Why did her heart beat faster at the tone? "I've got to leave tomorrow. Got a cable from the office this afternoon. "Oh, I'm sorry!” It was true. She would miss this man and his many kindnesses. He stared at her. "Monnie, I wonder I want you to come back with me!” CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN HAD she really heard Arthur Mackenzie say those words or was she dreaming? Monnie. lacing her Angers in her lap, gave him a dtrect, almost childlike look. "I —I don't understand," she faltered. "You're going back to New York. But Miss Anstice and I plan, as you know’, to start for Paris next week." "I know,” lie said firmly. "I know nil that." There was eagerness iri his tonp. "You can see Paris any time. Next month—next year—with me. Yes, Monica, I am asking you to marry me.” The color flared up in her cheeks. She was tense. "But that's impossible. I told you—” He interrupted her with a sweeping gesture. "I know. You told me about the young man back home whom you swore to love forever. Well, what'S happened is this, as I see it. Eitner he's forgotten about you—w’hich I doubt, as I scarcely think you would have cared for a fool—or he’s got entangled with someone else. Either way he's lost his chance. Monica. I'm in love with you. Does that sound absurd from me—with all you know about me?" There must have been something elltale about her expression for lackenzie's smile was grim. "I know you’ve heard plenty. Gossip aboard ship. I won't attempt to deny any of it. I've not been an angel. You must know

i. AFTER EVERY MEAL

I that. Women—well, we won’t go into that. It's all past. I have never asked a woman to marry me before, believe that. There's something about you, Mon- | ica," he told her. his voice softening. "that makes me want to do | things for vou show you the bright I places of the earth.” "That's kind,” she murmured, flashing him a smile. "It’s not,” he assured her. "Pure selfishness, that's what it is. I want to see your eyes shine like a child seeing its first Christmas tree.” “Am I so naive?” asked Monnie, struck by this picture of herself. a a a HE threw out his hands. "It’s not that exactly. You're—oh, so fresh and unspoiled. I never knew there was any one like you in the world. You give me back some touch of my youth—some faith I'd lost. “D'you know,” he went on in a slightly altered tone, "d’you know what Cornish Faneway said to me when first she saw you? On the deck that first day? Do you remember?” "I remember,” said Monnie, thinking of Cornish’s cynical eyes. "She said, Who's the little baggage? Paying excess on her this time?” Monnie’s color was high, her voice angry. "How could she?” He shrugged. "She knew me—my reputation. She assumed there was | something between us, but I soon put her straight on that. I knew then that what I felt for you was different, because when she said that I wanted to knock her down—” He fell into an instant’s musing. “What do you say, Monica?” he asked with a boy’s eagerness. She gave him a level glance. "I can't answer you now,” she told him. “1 must have time to think.” "I’m not very patient, you know,” he reminded her, smiling, assured. “I'm used to putting things through quickly.” She had a glimpse for an instant of what her life would be if she put her hand in his. Smooth sailing, always. He would be ruthless. she w’ould have what she wanted materially, but her very thbughts w’ould be owned by him. Did she want, that? She shivered. "Cold?” She shook her head. "You're not eating a bite.” "Too excited, I guess,” she said. “You’ve you've taken me off my feet.” nun HE laughed, delightedly. "Such a baby!” "And you leave tomorrow,” she mused, staring beyond him, not really seeing the soft, pale colors of the room, the mirrors reflecting the images of well dressed, soft voiced people. This was his life, she thought. A succession of smooth-paced events, money paving the w’ay for all manner of luxury, luxury without ostentation. Arthur Mackenzie’s w’ife would be a sort of queen in her own right. Doors would open for her. The ways would be made pleasant. The temptation came to her to surrender. It would all be so easy. No more money worries, no more snubs. She could do so much for all of them at home. Her mother, Kay, the others. Why did she hesitate? "I must,” she murmured, "have a little time. To think things over.” "Ah, time!” He threw' out one strong brown hand in an impatient gesture. "W've known each other - how long is it? Two w’eeks? Three? Enough, anyway. Don't let’s waste the precious minutes, Monica. Life is too short.” But she was stubborn, for once. She was not so pliable in this man’s hands as she might once have been. “I can't tell you now’,” she persisted. "Later.” (To Be Continued)

a rw BY BRUCfc CAJTON

THE secret of wwiting novels, evidently, is to load your book full of symbolism and misty allegory. Then the reviewers, even if they can't quite make out what it's ail about, are apt to conclude that it’s very fine stuff anyway and call on their readers to hop to it. “Stallion." by Marguerite Steen, seems to come in this class. A number of reviews have hailed' this book for its penetrating psychological insight, its symbolic overtones and what-not. But the ordinary reader is apt to find it pretty dreary, dull, forced and selfconscious. It's one of those studies of English farm life that the bright metropolitan novelists are so fond of doing. It deals chiefly with a slovenly groom whose job it is to lead a prize stallion about the country at regular intervals, and who uses these excursions to kick over the traces. He comes to grief when he encounters a girl from a wandering carnival outfit. They drift along together. quarrel violently, and at last he throws acid in her face. He goes to prison, and his wife — a patient-Griselda sort of person who seems to represent true womanhood, or the sturdy peasantry, or the spirit of progress or something —takes the girl in and looks after her. Most of the minor characters in the book, by the way, come to a bad end while all of this is going on. And. all in all, it's apt to strike the average reader as arty and tiresome. . . . Little, Brown and Cos., is the publisher; the price is $2.50.

! OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND lIIS FRIENDS

WELL, I GU6.SS 1 DON'T CUM AWAY,CS6IE luL MOSEY ON *u p 'ifk S SAY f WHY DON’T YOU STAY J HOME IT’S )Id b ( AND HAVE SUPPER WITH GETTIW' NEAR \ l ( S u 5 ? p SUPPER TIME/ ATVT VfrJf VJ * * > J

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

a BREACHING RIGHT AND LEFT. CRASH! L*, oNe piwecTUY beneath the second mate's ,7\ H BOAT. SCREAMS. CURSES. A CRN FOR HELP. 7> 'O ‘

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

—, K-202 aieTRIBVTgD 3QLBLY BY UNITED FEATURE SYNDIC ATX. P*: S> | Tjt frV/Ofr

Usanga was for taking his first lesson in aviation immediately. The Englishman attempted to dissuade him. Whereupon the sergeant became threatening. “All right, old top." muttered Roger. *TU give you the lesson of your life!" Then, to Olga; ‘ Ask him to let you come.”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Usanga glowered savagely and refused. “She stays here," he said. ‘My people will not harm her unless you fail to bring me back safely.” “Tell him,” said Roger, “that if you are not standing in plain sight when I return, I will carry Usanga back to the British camp."

—By Ahern

MESBE l \ C THArr LETS \ ( WHV P WILL, FPECKLES... If ME OUT 1 ) ( THAT Y_ WHAT ARE <7 HASH.O'i k)EVER EAT ( S ? / YOU HAVING J\ I HASH ? J

/voheres ieo. PiPPߣCif>Tlon well, put 'en N TALENT?THIS IS A SWELL ACT; /BACK IN TH'CANI THE'/ V CTCrie. Xk’ tumps'

OUT OUR WAY

uruu A\ | .11 il'■ ~ ' O'.F’WIU.IAMcU ° ~~ Born tvurt-/ years tdo soon. c gJ I *2%*.me n

~ ■ 1 ~ / he'/\ ain't this ) / hoo-eel like atncan \ \ of the l Thing got no JV. on a wilp cat’s tail. J Lt/SWEDES BRAKES?/ y HAS A 7 / BROKEN LEG. ' ( BUT THE MATE'S BO t Go/ I TALK ABOUT THRILLS! 80/, OBOV! - yy J /■ ii. AND easy are holding on for dear life. yO - © 1933 by hea servicLTnc.Reg u. S p*t f u -^

OR. RATHER ,\T NESiER GTARTEOI WHAT O HE TvMWM. NV V THREW HIM / , GVDOY KNOWS PERFECTLY WELL //%' ,A OvJER , NOW ? He's TV AT SROKE AN f \ NEviER REAVCV CARET) FOR ; ' /; FEEUb RVENTY CHEAP, Af> NT \* , P HIM N'YOO KNOW \T.TOO— I? I WTHCXSt TAY GETTIN’ E>ORE AT H\M ! h DEAR—ONLY. Yoo f. L N 1 ANY HOW, WHY GHOOVO \ ? GEE’. ™ OM, AI \ nta u s PAT o rr o itna *r. j

Usanga agreed and explained this to his warriors. Once seated within the plane, however, his courage began to wane. When the motor was started and the great propellop commenced to whir. Usanga screamed to Roger to stop the thing and let him out.

WELL, I NEVER / MO SIR ! BECAUSE ) EAT IT AT HOME \ BUT > I OOWT KMOW <' BECAUSE I KHOW ) YOU’D EAT ) l WHAT’S IN WHATS IN IT HERE, ) fT !! f Nit !! J ) wouldn't J Y J YOU J/ v.

ZTT VJELL.tF Ya ask VOU'RE. hpnin' th* / -J —V v SftfAE. effect om —1 Cl / S & Cl .

By this time the plane was moving algr ground. As it arose and soared gracefuh.v the trees, the sergeant was terrified. He saw tn& earth dropping rapidly away from him. Higher and higher Roger drove the plane, swinging in a wide circle above the forest.

—By Williams

By Edgar Pvic:e Burroughs

PAGE 15

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin