Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 19, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 June 1933 — Page 25

JUNE 2, 1033.

PflßLinG FOOL*^

BEGIN HERE TODAT MONNIE O'DAR F. vounK •n'l r'l *l* for Europe wi*h an old friend. MISS ANSTICK COREY Monn - OeIf've* DAN CARDIGAN. w;*h whom -r.e b r lor.R beer, in lore has titled her Prtlv bra i*e r.iv p^ten 1 * look dn on Monnle. * ho t poor. Iran a r.r*r.t* •* him To marry wealthy SANDRA LAWRENCE Sandra pretendr:! to be Menme n fr.rnd. doe* her leu to win Dan even te;] r-r him Monn.e is trou'.g to tnarr- CHARLES EUSTACE, .mother admirer ARTHUR MACKENZIE. rich New Yorker, vails on the same boa Monnle and M --s Coret- take. He showers Monnie with attention* and one niaht in London asks her to rr.arrv him. Monnie r.e- rate* pron..-.r.c to (tire her answer r.ext morning While he ! trvine 10 deride what to do *he receives a letter from Dar NOW t.O ON WITH THE STORT CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (Continued! "Then you won't go back with me?" His face darkened. "We could bo married bv special license tomorrow. Never mind how—l could arrange it. You could sail with me, and in January, when all this busit.< • sos the loan is finished, wc could come back to Paris together. I've wanted to show you Paris. Remember I said that from the start?" "I remember!" Amber eyes flashed e t him. "Monica, you darling! Don’t disappoint me now." She trembled, feeling this man’s power, his attraction. "Give me until morning," she pleaded at last, in answer to his importunities. "Telephone me at nine." “The boat train,’’ he reminded her. ‘leaves at 11. That makes it short " But his eyes were glowing as with triumph. He felt himself master of the situation. "You can throw a few things into p. dressing case, can’t you? And Miss Corey can send your trunk later.” The girl begged to be taken back to her hotel early, for by this time she was actually almost ill with nervousness and excitement. Mackenzie readily acceded to her (request. He was jubilant. Already [he treated her like one of his choicest possessions. She was cold? Ah, that w'ould never do! “Haggins, wrap Miss O’Dare in the fur rug, so!" That was better. He would order hot milk sent up to her directly she got back to her room. Did she mind being alone until Miss Anstice returned? Well, all the better perhaps, so that she might make her decision. a a a AT parting he was very gentle with her, under the bright,'respectful eye of the uniformed boy at the lift. "Sleep well,’* he charged her,, smiling." "Oh, I will,” she promised, laughing nervously. "Thank you for everything—you are so kind.” But her eyes were troubled after she had left him. What should she do? It was 100 much to expect her to make such a tremendous decision overnight. Out of his presence, she nowr relaxed, feeling, if the truth were told, a bit resentful at the tumultuousness of his wooing. Miss Corey had described him not long ago as a bit of a pirate. The term suited him exactly. He had a touch of the buccaneer about him. A polite, well-clothed buccaneer, of course, but there was in his nature a trace of the ruthlessness which belongs to the unscrupulous. Monica recognized this, liking him none the less for it. attracted In spite of herself. That he was twice her age did not seem to matter. She was young enough to consider this fact in itself a romantic circumstance. She did not love him —no! But since she could not have the man she did love, did this matter? Weren’t most people inclined to overestimate the value of love? She sat thus, wrapped in her old blue dressing gown, and sipped the warm milk the servant brought her, .reminded by it of the man’s Solicitude for her. "What shall I do?” she cried aloud Yo the empty walls. "What shall 1 tell him tomorrow?” As if in answer to her cry a soft knock sounded at the door of the suite. Monnie, thinking the maid had returned to carry away the empty cup. softly called. "Come.” But, insteady of the fresh faced English woman in her neat uniform, a page boy entered with an envelope on a saiver. "The letter came on the boat train, madam. The director thought it might be urgent, it had been so delayed.” she tore the envelope open with trembling fingers. Dan’s writing! 3 had been addressed to her hotel jn New York and forwarded. What could he have to say to her? 1 CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT MONNIE turned'the letter slowly in her hands. Dan’s familiar iwriting, black and bold, stared back at her. Her heart turned over. How odd—how very odd it was to receive a letter from him at this moment, when she was trying to make the most momentous decision cf her life! It was as if Dan himself had reached across the many miles that separated them, saying. "Wait, Monnie! Don’t forget me. I’m still here! ” Ah, but he was the one who had forgotten, her sore heart reminded her. He it was who had written that other letter, the cruel one telling her they’d better "hold up the plans" tor the January wedding. No, it was no use depending on Dan. She’d done that in the past and her pride, her love, her faith in him had been wounded past bearing. Should she open it? Should she make her decision first—and by this time she had pretty well decided what she would say to Arthur Mackenzie on the morrow —and read Dan’s letter afterward? Had he still the power to sway her past reason, past belief? Did she dare to see what Dan had written her on the very day before she had sailed from New York to adventure and another mans devotion? She wondered. While she was pondering the matter, flushed and disturbed, little Miss Anstice blew in. "My deax, I had no idea you’d fee home so early!”

i^TPfIP I 1 i L!>-g u m ft i I LLJ^>weetens I | BJtr THE BREATH

Miss Anstice, imposing in silver cloth with a collar of gray fox, stared frankly at her traveling companion. "I thought you’d be out until all hours. ‘Painting the town,’ as they say. Are you feeling all right?" "Yes—no.” Monica stammered, not knowing how to explain. Then on a sudden impulse she blurted out the truth. "Mr. Mackenzie's sailing ur.expectedly for home tomorrow,” she said. “He—Miss Anstice, he wants me to marry him and go with him.” "Well, I declare.” Miss Anstice's beautiful coiffure of silvery Grecian curls fairly quivered. She sat down abruptly. "Os course, I knew something like this was in the air.” she began breathlessly, "but not so soon! My dear!" "I—l haven’t decided," Monnie confessed. "I don't know what to do. Help me, Miss Anstice. What shall I say to him?” "If you're considering me in this,” cried the older woman shrewdly, "please forget all about it. I can get along splendidly, although shall miss you, of course. The truth is Sally Richardson is dying to do Paris with me—with us, I mean, and wants to go on to Switzerland afterward. • So you see I shouldn’t be alone. Do as your heart bids you, my dear! I never advise in matters cf this sort. Too risky. But I will say this. Mr. Mackenzie’s a splendid man and very fond of you—any one can see that.” a a a II don't love him.” Monnie faltered. "I'm fond of him. I like him as a friend, but—but—” "He doesn’t make your heart stand still, eh?” Miss Anstice considered this, bright head on one side like a silver-plumaged bird. "Well, my dear, I’ve seen many a marriage in mv time. Love matches. They don't always turn out so well, either. You have an even chance for happiness, starting with friendship and respect. Then, too, my dear, there’s the matter of money to be thought of. I'm not a worldly person. You know that. Been poor all my life until just lately, And now that I have had my taste of luxury, I'm afraid I shall never be able to do without it again. It's so pleasant—breakfast in bed, nice frocks, being able to tip the waiter without worrying about it. Yes, money’s'important. “I’d be the last person in the world to tell a girl to consider money only w T hen thinking of mar- 1, riage, and I know what poverty can do to young people. I’d like to see you get some of the whipped cream of life while you're young.” It was a long speech, and Miss Anstice wa-s rather breathless at the end of it. She stripped off her creamy gloves and smoothed them together. "There’s your family, too,” she continued after a silence. "Kay—thing what a brilliant marriage would do for her.” “I’ve thought of that,” Monnie said briefly. She crumpled the letter in her hands, looking at the fire in the grate. "Child, child, you're shivering!” the older woman said, appalled. "Go to bed. You mustn't catch cold. We'll talk of this in the morning.” Monnie escaped, her head in a whirl, the letter still clasped in her hand. The clock struck 1, struck 2. In the room beyond'She could hear the faint snore of her benefactoress. Minnie knew that she herself would be a wTeck tomorrow', look a perfect fright, if she didn’t get some sleep. , She tossed and turned restlessly between the crisp English sheets. Yes, Miss Anstice was right. Reaon triumphed over emotion here. Her mind had been almost made up when the conversation had begun. Miss Anstice had crystallized her feeling. She would be a fool to throw away such a chance. She w ould say "yes” to Mackenzie on the morrow and go away with him as his w r ife. She would forget all the old ardours of young love. They were silly,, weren’t they? What was that old song she had heard somew'here? Oh. yes. "Oh, how I laugh when I think how I cried about you.” Thai was the right spirit, no doubt'about it! Take love lightly! The trouble with her was that she had been too serious about Dan, probably had bored him by the very earnestness and steadfastness of her devotion. That wasn't what men wanted or what they cared about. They liked you to laugh, to be gay and foolish and inconsequential. Monnie had been all of that with Arthur Mackenzie. a a WELL, pirate or not, she liked him. A girl liked to be swept off her feet. The boldness, the swiftness and unexpectedness of the situation appealed to* her. Beyond the morrow she would not lopk. When his deep voice came to her over the telephone she would say: "I'm coming with you.” There would be. naturally, notices in the newspapers. Mackenzie was too important for his marriage to go unnoticed. People would say. “Who is she? A nobody!" and dismiss her. Except in Belvedere. People there who had ignored her. turned their faces the other way when they passed her on the street, would be anxious now to say they'd known her. It was silly—it was unworthy, and Monnie knew it—to feel a thrill of triumph at this thought, but she was only human and could not suppress the feeling. She could . not sleep—at least until she read Dan’s letter. It was burning a hole in the pillow underneath which she had thrust it. Reluctantly, Monnie drew it forth and, snapping on the rose-shaded lamp beside her bed, ripped open the thick envelope. She had steeled herself to coolness, to indifference, but in spite of herself her heart beat faster at the opening sentence. (To Be Continued)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

DO YOU M 'DONT GIVE US uSr i? ET H THINK I WILL LOOK. AS )■{ ANY OF TWAT f \ 1 U fk SKIPPER OF A CRAFT ) \ t YOU COULDNT' WA . LK g m I *sM THINKING OP ° M STEER A K\ * JT7RENTING A "BOAT POR THE f SWMY "BOAT 1 l THINK. / SUMMER ,TES f 7 —THIS < ( ACROSS A PARK ) L TWAT MAKING IS the UNIFORM 1 WORE \ LAKE /—THAT \C \ WHEN I WAS CAPTAIN OF / COAT ANiD UT= U _ \ ft \ TW e UAKITYOYIA USED TO BBJPNG TO S SOMETHING ) ™*£™*™*' A A SHOOT-THE-CHUTES J TO TO WITH J ' ( PLYING BETWEEN M ticket TAkER / KNITTING f

FRECKLES 'AND HIS FRIENDS

DO/l’T YOU THIUK ) s SHUCKS? TRY IW'TD f COME. NOW, TAG ! THIS IS f~WE.IL, ALL THE • M 6 rT& MAKE ME GO TO BED , THE LAST TIME. I'M GOIUG ALL RIGHT, A UTTLE CHICKENS ,|F . YEAH BUT U BED TAG 2 A iSVnSSr SO SOON AFTER SUPPER | TO ASK YOU TO GET TO ; ALL RIGHT/ GOSH? % GO TO BED AT / i THEIR MOTHER ( oi rrsioF f J you'd thiuki was you cam finish yootkthiuki was y// Y that time, j H* always GOES * ' '* *

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

- barely out of reach of OIL* ATTER MIL* KT <**MS IWMN . E ' SPEEH. OUT OE SIOHT OE SHIP AWD ** - LiLAMP. MEW LOAHEP WITH SPPAV. ETPIT* ■ / / JK TO PULL ALON6SIPE THE PLTiNO - I

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

il i vn,'i YWfcttttG. j > Wu. U VOOV TWb \9 * sug?g\^ -IH j T il jm .scm ,Wo _Wm mAW ONO r rM

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

ii . 1 11 f |

Much to his own surprise, Usanga discovered his terror was waning as the plane soared above Numabos village. He began to take notice of the manner in which the white man guided and manipulated the ‘great bird.’ After half an hour, Roger rose rapidly.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Suddenly, •without warning, he looped, and flew with the plane upside down for a few seconds. “I said I’d give him the lesson of his life,” he murmured as he heard, even above the propellors whir, the shriek of the terrified Usanga. Roger righted the machine.

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

IM(t IM '** o'lfM *rrwo^*iNMKKKHtW '.OFT.

r ~ PEAO WHALE OR A STOLE rt HE MICiHT'V WHALE AMP WPOLIES in MjONT, ■a | *. "cMUPNINC, THE SEA lino A SLOOOT EOAM. IN ANP ; - OUT OAQTS THE WHALEEOAT, NIMHLT PODOINC, BOTH ' '' TAIL ANP JAW-ETPIKING ALAIN ANP AGAIN WITH THE LANCE. L., A 'Bm *,. sc"vhc. iwc mr, ix 3 p.t orr '

He circled slowly a few times above the meadow until he had assured himself that the girl was there and apparently unharmed. Then he dropped gently to the ground, stopping the plane near Olga and Usanga's warriors. Usanga tumbled out of the ills.'iage, trembling.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

With solid ground under foot, Usanga quickly regained his composure. He strutted about, showing off’’ before his admiring warriors. He insisted on making camp beside the plane, lest it be stolen. Two days they camped there and Usanga compelled Roger to instruct him.

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—By Williams

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