Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 20, Indianapolis, Marion County, 3 June 1933 — Page 9

JUNE 3, 1933.

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< 5 ZD!* Hf RE TODAT MOVNIK O DARK voun* onri h*tiM- ”>£ K'lrnn* with *n old friend. MIPS ANSTICE CORBY Monni- iwDAN CARDIGAN, with whom h ha-. lona bfrn in io-r h* iiiii'd hr parti* bfrnufr hit parin'* look down on Monnl* who it poor. Dun * pa rr.t* yjpt him to marry *c:thv SANDRA LAWRENCE Sandra pretending to be M-nnie < friend, doei her be-,t to win • to marry CHARL|B EUSTACS anothei •dmlrei. ARTHUR MACKENZIE a rich mlddleagerl New Yorker, rnh-. on the me boat ' Monn.e lie .l ower* her with attenlion. and one n.sht in London askw her to marry him. Monnie herirates. premising to v . "• her anaa er nexl morning Wh.ie ahe lj trying to make up her mind what to do 'he rerjjve.s a letter from Dan explaining hia T pa.' nrglect and begging per o forgive h.m. Monnie dendew to return home, taking the (ire boat Mackenzie, who has been railed hark to New York on bu.Mnems. la ni ’-ailing SOW GO ON WITH TIIE STORY CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 'Continued > "Darlmsf Monnie," Dan wrote) | “I havo boon all sorts of a fool and ran you forgive me? You know I'm not very good at letter-writing—-never was. I can’t say what I want ori paper But will you just drop me a hnp to say everything's all right? “I wired you at; the hotel, but they said they couldn't deliver the message because you'd already gone. I got home Just as you were leaving. Wasn’t that rotten luck? I'll be waiting Ail my love." Monnie stared at it, turning the thick sheet in her hands. It was the longest letter she had ever received from Dan, the most articulate. All his love! Why, she had been a fool ever to think she'd lost it! When two people felt as she and Dan did about each other, when the whole world was changed and glorified for one merely by thp knowledge that the other existed in it, it was stupid—wasn’t it?— to take second best. Suddenly, everything was clear to her. Her course was clear. Miss Anstice admitted she would get along without her. She would leave tomorrow, not as Arthur Mackenzie’s bride but as Monica O'Dare, going back to' the man she loved. /Calmness descended upon her. She slept. a a a M ISS ANSTICE woke her, shaking her gently. "My dear, lie's on the wire!" “Who? Where?" Ah, she was dead, slip was so weary-. What did Miss Anstice mean? "Mr. Mackenzie, He sounds terrifically excited and happy.” It all came back to her at once. Something she had to do—to tell Arthur Mackenzie. She wasn't going to marry him after all. All her rbeams of a brilliant marriage had faded. Dan still cared Jor her and wanted her. She stumbled to the telephone, knotting the cord of her dressing gown. "I'm sorry,” she said in a low voice. * I can't.” Simply that. No explanations. No excuses. The man at the other end of the wire hesitated for a long moment. Then, "Can I do anything to make you change your mind?" he asked. Monnie, feeling utterly abject and ashamed, said no. But, she added, "I'm leaving for New York today. If you don’t mind. I'm taking passage on your boat.” He gave a joyous shout, triumph in his voice. Monnie, with Miss Anstice's surprised gaze upon her, knew what his thought was: It would be easy for him to break down her defenses on the trip home. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Ct HARLES EUSTACE, tall, lean Z and elegant in his dinner clothes, lounged against the fireplace in Sandra Lawrence's home. "I asked you to come in,” Sandra said softly, "because there was something special I wanted to talk about. Sit down.” The young man shot her a rapier glance out. of keen dark eyes, then subsided into a deep red chair. The girl, a fleeting a demureness and shyness foreign to her, stared into the flames. You're going to the party tonight, T suppose,” Charles ventured in the awkward silence. "Oh. yes," that was it,” Sandra said. To Charles’ puzzled stare she continued, "Someone told me you were angry at me, and I did so want to get tilings straightened out before we met, when there were jieople present. So awkward —” her voice trailed off. Charles grinned. “Angry at you? But that's absurd. Why should I be?” ‘ r don’t know!” Sandra gave him a fleeting glance from under long lashes. "It does sound silly, doesn’t It, when we know each other really so little. Only—well. I'fancied perhaps someone had talked about me, prejudiced you against me on account of your friendship for someone else.” This was arrant nonsense, and Charles said so. His agreeable voice seemed to softer, the blow. "What, precisely." he inquired amiably, "do you mean?" Sandra laid her cards on the table "You do like Monica O'Dare awfully, don't you?” He stiffened. "Yes, I do. Does nhe come into this?” Sandra shrugged, a gesture she had perfected. “A bit. You see. she used to want Danny, ar he's mine. "Oh. yes?” Charles seemed faintly bored, but any close observer would have noted the sudden gleam In his eyes. "He always has been, really.” said Sandra, warming to her topic. A year or two ago he and Monnie had a bit of a flirtation. He didn't take it seriously, but she did. Poor girl, she hadn't much experience with beaux, and Dan is such a lamb he didn't know she'd misunderstand." a a a CHARLES stood up, not liking any of this. "I'm not at all sure she did,” he Interrupted. "My impression always has been that the affair was about fifty-fifty." "Aren't you quaint?” trilled Sandra. "It wasn't at all. .1 know them both, so I have the straight of it.”

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"But what,” demanded Charles with somp impatience, "has all this to do with me?” He looked rather ostentatiously at the watch he had been fingering for a moment. “I thought I’d hke you to know how matters stood,” the girl told him glibly. “I didn't want you to believe id done any poaching. Someone told me you'd said—” “I never talk about women," Eustace said, a note of harshness coming into his voice. "I leave that to their own sex. You must excuse me now. I'm overdue at my uncle's.” He was fuming as he took his hat and coat -from the maid at the front door. The girl was a fool. There were no two ways about it. What did she expect- to gain by talking about Monnie to him? Was she really, as Kay believed, such an enemy to Monnie that she would deliberately try to undermine her with Charles, after having stolen Dan from under her nose? Or, was it a bit more complex—was Sandra such an egoist that she wished every one, even Charles Eustace who knew her so casually, to think well of her? However it was, she was a nasty little cat, and he sincerely disliked her. He walked off into the autumn night, frowning. Why hadn't he told her exactly what he thought of her. he asked himself. She hated Monnie that much was plain. How had she dared to speak of her in that tone to him? Charles acknowledged, with a pang, that Monica's absence cost him a great deal. He was missing her more than he would have believed possible a year ago. She was so sweet. That was it so everlastingly sweet and clean and desirable! She made all these other girls, with their poses and affectations and meannesses, look drab and uninteresting. Monnie—he admitted it to himself at last—had come to be the core and center of his life. He loved her —and she was in love with another man. There was nothing he could do about it. Unconsciously, he groaned to himself. Nothing he could do, he repeated, except to stand by and be her friend if she needed one. He rather thought she would. tt tt tt '’T'HE party of which Sandra had A spoken was a barn dance at the summer place of the Bliss’s, some fifteen miles out on the river road. The great studio barn was heaped, for the occasion, with sheaves and decorated with pumpkins, cornstalks. russet leaves and gourds. Charles, bored with the idea of assembling a special costume for the affair, knotted a bandana over his crackling shirt front and lounged on the sidelines, watching the merriment. Geraldine Cardigan, looking rather prettier than usual in a fresh blue gingham, whirled by in the arms of one of the Payne boys and waved to him. He saw Dan dancing with Sandra and looked away. There was no doubt about it, the girl was attractive in a feline sort of way. Dan, he observed, was rather the worse for wear. He had been stopping at the punch bowl in the corner a bit too often, and his step was slightly unsteady. Sandra seemed to be in her element. She didn't, Charles thought, drink at all, but she was gayer than those who did. Her trilling laughter sounded often. Her full-skirted frock of yellow stuff, billowing about her, was the merest burlesque of a milkmaid's costume. A milkmaid from the Rue de la Paix. "Good lookin’ girl!” Charles turned to find Lance Waterman, one of his cousins, at his elbow. Charles grunted. "Hear they're makin’ a go of it.” Lance indicated Dan, who was weaving in and out in the intricacies of the dance. “I believe they are.” (To Be Continued)

~snr dk A DAY 6Y BRUCE CATION

"OPHE PRTMER OF INFLATION,” by Earl Sparling, contains some timely advice for all of us confused folk who have been asking, "What is inflation likely to mean to me?” First of all, says Mr. Sparling, the man in debt when inflation begins stands to profit. He borrows at one level and pays off at a lower one. and the bigger the scale on which he does it the more he profits. Secondly, he buys things like stocks and commodities. He buys on credit, as far as possible. He floats a loan, perhaps, on his insurance policy. Always, he remembers that he is handling dear money now but that he will be handling cheap money a little later on. Unfortunately, however, as Mr. Sparling points out. the average citizen can’t do a great deal of this. The profits of an inflationary period go chiefly to the "governing class"; which class, he says, consists of those able to borrow money at the bank. If you belong to that class you are able to use a kind of money the rest of us can’t touch "book money,” bank credit; and in an inflation ary period suph money is abundant, you can get it for the asking and you can do some very wonderful things with it. For the wage earner and salaried employe. Mr. Sparling doesn't see a great deal of hope. Their pay will rise, but the cost of living will rise faster. The only consolation seems to be a time of deflation, like the immediate past, is even harder on them. This instructive little book is offered by the John Day Company for $1.50.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

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Recalling his own months of arduous training. “He’d break his fool neck in two minutes,” Roger smiled at the ignorant Africans conceit, said Olga. However, Roger persuaded Usanga to for Usanga was already demanding that he be wait a few more days’ instruction. In Usanga's permitted to make a solo flight, ■"lf it were not suspicious brain came the idea that the white man for losing the machine,” the Englishman ex- was “stalling ” He determined to outwit the aviaplained to Olga, “I let the bounder take It up."’ hit upon a plan.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

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OUT OUR WAY

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This plan would also leave him in possession of the white girl whom he was determined to have. He hardly slept that night as the idea unfolded in his excited brain. At dawn, Usanga could scarcely wait to commence his scheme. He gave orders to certain warriors.

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Roger, who usually kept an eye upon his saw that something was up. Evidently Usanga was persuading his followers to some new plan. Several tunes he saw the savage s eyes turned toward himself and Olga. Everything suggested that trouble was brewing for them Uu£

—Bv Williams

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

PAGE 9

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Sm,

-—By Martin