Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 23, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 June 1933 — Page 15

JUNE 7, 1033.

Oopi ina Fool

CHAPTER PORTY-ONE 'Con.) ' Why, Monnie,” Dan said In a perfectly natural voice, albeit a ■weak one. “They told me you'd gone away. I was looking tor you—everywhere—" “Don't bother to talk." Monnie Raid softly. “I'm here now. It doesn't • liter, does it?” Bh<‘ had dropped to her knees by his side was cradling one of his big hands, so strangely limp, in her own two slim ones. “I'm glad you've come,” Dan whispered. “I missed you so—” The nurse leaned over, her fingers on his pulse. Her glance, bright, calm, impersonal, took them all in. “Don't go away," he said, sudr. ■ rong, suddenly clear-voiced. • i wan? you here beside me—” •j ; . Dan," Monnie said in r, .<• she had difficulty in keepli._ • i I promise you I will." CHAPTER FORTY-TWO IT wa; night now. Outside on the .street lamps were lighted, silver ), okKuning -uddenly high in the * ariy dusk. Inside the quiet hospital rooii n.:: was changed. Quiet left a;*;,ed to and fro.. Bom-<-:ic helped Monnie to a low chat she did not take her eyes from !!.' face of the boy in the high Jii row bed. His eyes were i now. There was an expression ' 1 deep contentment in his face. “At vhow he isn't in pain." she kept telling herself over and over, criunnng herself with the thought. “Anyhow it's being made easy for him." Monnie was conscious once during the long hours of Charles Eustace at her side. “You must come away and get some rest,” he urged softly. "This is doing no good. He doesn't know you're here." She shook her head, gently stubborn As ii she would leave now! Just before midnight he opened lii.s “ye It seemed to Monnie that he smiled at her. His mother, swaying on her feet, called his name. * Dan closed those dark blue eyes of his again, and a little shudder took him. That was all. It was as it he had smiled at them to say j nod-by. The nurse led Mrs. Cardigan away and Monnie, dazed, found herself in the corridor. Charles’ arms was about her. It wasn’t true, she thought. Dan wasn’t gone Oh. there must be something someone could do! It was monstrous, unbelievable! A girl and boy, arms linked, went by in the street, laughing. The world was wrong. Monnie felt something clutch at her throat. She wanted to say, “Charles. I’m afraid I'm going to be ill.” But she never managed the words.

WHEN she awoke she was in her own bod. Her mother, anxious eyed, hovered over her with a cup of steam liquid in one hand. "Dr. Waterman says you’re to drink Ibis and you're not to talk,” she told Monnie. The girl was obedient. she felt strangely exhausted, strangely limp. Through some soft of log. she was grateful to them all for taking rare of her. They were kind everyone was. In the days that followed. Monrtie somehow picked up the threads <if her life again. She was broken, she told herself Nothing could really make her whole, but she would do the best she could with what was left. She was so quiet, so submissive that she frightened them all. Did she want to go for a drive? (This from Bill who had lately acquired a small secondhand sedan). Yes. that would be nice. When Mr. Vernon asked her to come back to her old work, Monnie said she thought she'd better not. It would be dreadful, having all her old friends come in and pity her, sympathizing with her wordlessly, watching to see "how she was taking It." When she worked she forgot the past year, its fretting and disappointments and heartache, with her great loss at the top of the high hill. Sandra she did not see again. A week after Dan’s funeral Sandra had gone away, heavily veiled, with her father. “She's marred for life," Kay told Mrs. O’Dare, not without a certain grim satisfaction. “She's gone to see a plastic surgeon in Vienna, Linda says, hoping he can fix her up. They say there’s a bad scar across her forehead and one near the mouth." Mrs. O’Dare shuddered. “Don’t tell me about it." O O O I r AY said, “Did you know they’d JV. all been drinking the night she and Dan ran off? Sandra wasn't but she saw io it that Dad had too much and then dared him to elope. He was in one of his black moods and did it just to show off. He never really knew what happened." “Does Monnie know that?” “I think she does.” Kay said. "Charles said he wanted to tell her. He said she should know about it. Charles says Dan never loved any one but Monnie, only he was too weak to come out and claim her in front of his family." “Sometimes I think we were all Wrong, discouraging Monnie about Dan," sighed the mother. “I felt sure they were terribly unsuited and that she'd never bo happy with him, Kay set a blue hat jauntily atilt on her bright curls. "They love to bo treated that way,” she said saucily. The postman's knock sounded and she flew to open the door. "New York mail for Monnie,” she said. “I hotie it's something that will cheer her up. Bye. I'm on my way. I've got to go to the Ladies' Aid Christmas sale before I stop at the office." And she was gone. When Monnie cam? in for her luncheon she opened the big creamy envciope. There was a brief note from Arthur Mackenzie. ' Dearest Monica” the had written . “I've just heard the sad news from Miss Corey, who wrote me

SWEETENS THE BREATH <4-I*o

from Paris. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. Are you well? What are your plans? Let me hear from you soon. Devotedly, Arthur Mackenzie.” The correspondence that followed was a heavy one. Monnie's little notes flew back and forth, and almost every- day a square, parchment colored envelope addressed in Mackenzie’s bold handwriting was deposited in the letter box for her. a a a JUST before Christmas there arrived at the O'Dare home what Mark excitedly describbed as “a bale of roses” from a city florist's shop Charles Eustace, on the heels of the messenger boy, lifted his brows at the sight. "They’re from Mr. Mackenzie," Monica stammered, rather at a loss before Charles’ quizzled glance. Why was it lately that he had seemed so strange, almost cool to her? He was always nice to Kay, chaffing her in pleasant, brotherly fashion. With Monnie he seemed formal, almost distant, in his manner. "Did you want—Kay’s working late tonight,” Monnie went on, still rather at a loss. "I knew that,’’ Charles laid his stick on the hall table, and Monnie saw that he was in evening clothes. "I'm going on to the Willard’s for dinner. They’re giving a dance for Ellen ” I'm wishing you all a happy Christmas,” Charles told her formally. He weighed his stick in his hand, giving the mammoth florist’s box another quiz-zical glance. "I knew Mackenzie in Monte Carlo.” he said irrelevantly. “Nice fellow*—very.” ' Oh he is,” Monnie said with enthusiasm. And then felt rather foolisl* thinking her tone sounded gushina. It was horrid of Charles to maktj her feel so! What was the matter/with them both? Couldn't they befriends any more? Perhaps that was what Charles meant when he looked at her so oddly. Perhaps he thought she was shallow and had no heart.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE /"\NE day in late February, a day of premature spring, Monnie was walking along High street on her way home. Suddenly, it seemed to her that the thaw liad come to her heart as well as to all the brooks and rivulets. It was as if the pieces of a puzzle had fallen into place and she saw her life again in its true proportions. “Is it wrong to feel this way?" she wondered, innocently. After all, in the eyes of the world she had no right to mourn Dan. She must hide her sorrow and be secret about it. Sandra was his widow—and Sandra was far away by this time, seeking to reclaim her lost beauty. But it was true that life had color for Monnie again, had regained meaning all on a sudden, as if someone had “flung wide a casement," showing her a dim, remembered beauty. "This is what it used to be like —before—before I was in love with Dan,” the girl confessed to herself. She had lived only for the sound of his voice, for a chance sight of him in the street, for the hope of some further meeting with him. It had all been so unsatisfactory, so bitter, so sad. Nothing had come of it and here she was, almost 21, wondering what to do with her days. a a a THE high clouds, scudding across a piercingly blue sky, matched her mood. How strange, she thought a little sadly, Charles was these days. In Dr. Waterman's office, she heard of him casually. Be was going here, going there. He appeared to be much in demand. His health was completely restored now, the doctor had told her, hinting, too. that Charles’ expected to move on shortly. “He’s getting restless here,” the white hairerd. keen ey?d old gentleman had remarked that morning. “He's perfectly fit. and he wants to get back to his work. (To Re Continued)

TT'BODK A DAT BY BRUCE GMTQNt

PASCAL'S MILL,” by Ben Ames Williams, is an eerie and scary tale of a murder on an isolated New England homestead. Strictly speaking, it is not a “murder mystery;” but there is mystery in it, and murder, and readers who like stories of this kind can rest assured that this book will entertain them and keep them up at night until they have finished it. It has to do with a young Boston lawyer who goes into the back country to acquaint the feminine ward of an eccentric mill owner with a bequest which has made her rich. The plat really is simple enough The old mill owner has a brother who has vanished. As the book develops, it becomes apparent that he has been murdered. The murderer's identify is perfectly obvious. There are none of the customary tricks of the mystery story to complicate things. What- you get, instead, is the development of an atmosphere of horror and terror; a development that is neatly handled and which. I think, will send not a few cold shivers down your spine. The book, in short, is a bellringer . . . Dutton is publishing it at $2. Then there's "The American Gun Mystery.” by Ellery Queen tStokes: S2>. For some reason that is quite beyond me, these Ellery Queen stories have a great vogue among mystery fans. They seem to me pompous, overwritten and boring, and this one is no exception. It tells of the murder of a cowboy in a rodeo at New York, in case you're interested.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

fllP 7 TELL YOU WHAT ILL IX? \ ( VERY WELL,SIR „ $ / I'LL GIVE YOU A SPEGAL r' A VOU WILL BE THE THIRD JjjIf RATE OF S2O, TOR YOUR l ( ’ PoRTRAIT “PAINTERTO TUT H PORTRAIT IN OIL?—MY T MY FEATURES ON CANVAS, \ \ } USUAL PRICE IS#SO, BUT 11 FOR POSTERITY f-HARR-mjMF hj fY( YOU HAVE A DISTINGUISHED )> MY OTHEP TWO PORTRAITS J \\ LOOKING FACE-—SO MUCH j > WERE DONE BY ZORN f character/ I CAN FAINT AND SARGENT f—-BOTH JF [ / YOU IN YOUR HOME, AT PAINTINGS ARE NOW , YOUR LEISURE p HANGING IN EUROPEAN i , | .T. —[ T 1 i—..... —!

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

f WELL. HERE'S ANOTHER SI6N OF VI f I DON'T KNOW 1 ¥ pr.nv? faLl f WHY. HE ALWAYS WALKS T - ‘ 7 ) **'"*"*“ i IRx'bZCf _ B TOANDFROMHISOFFICE.S St T , J\ BETTER,WITH PRICES N SEVEN CENTS, ~ T Y 1 * SOT NOW HE CAN 7 X SETTER EVERY DAY? S 60INS up _ 1 NOW 7 ' 1 F,6UKE - g SAVE FOURTEEN / |j ; * "" ~ . • I . '■••• .tm>■

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

Li- i.Hoo-g: sue slows! SHt BLOWS!! 1 ( —SIX MILES To LEEWARD. {jAAU j Dean I • _ mkt — *

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

HtV, MV\MY— | / " YMEAN HE 1 HANENT SEFN VWM S'NCE WHERE'S & V, V) Q ICaVt ULCV ' YOO AH' HE PARTED OKi G\oovup c_iy v cm J L ) ra 1 , that race G\OOY ? j msu I - VET ? f J. v !C

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

- ‘JioLelt by ' unttpT iVc’ ,

Tarzan, growing, wheeled about to face whatever creature might be menacing him. He saw the author of the disturbance was Zu-byat. "Where is the tribe?” asked Tarzan. “Hunting in the forest.” "And the Tarmangani she and bull—” questioned Tarzan, “are they safe?”

THE IXDIAXAPOLIS TIMES

“They have gone away,” replied Zu-b‘yat. ‘ Kudu, the sun, has come out of his lair twice since they left.” Tarzan swung quickly through the trees toward the clearing. The hut and boma were is he had left them but there was no sign of eitner the man or woman. t

-—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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VIHALe, HE CAN \( ME, TOO 1 . I COULDN'T Yl COULDNT\ NONE O’YER SKULKIN', NE BLASTED GO YUMP IN P 6 LAKE. ) ROVN SIX MILES (P \J EVIEN CUMB } LOAFERS'. EV'ERY MAN O' YE TO i. \ GOING TO REST. J \ Hf\t> To. IN THE h~ tWE BOATS. y

GOVIN .1 HEO BE SAY, Y OONt SPOSE ( L HERE WA\"m’ FOR ME !fl AMYFHiHG COULD'VE “ u . D rt p. 1 TO HM. fl S HIM HE WAG BOSY\N bo YOO? \A \

Tarzan entered the hut. His trained nostrils told him they had been gone at least two days. Then he saw the note Roger had left. It stated that "because our presence is keeping you from your westward journey and because you told me that..

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

"... you dislike the woman whom you clai.n is a Red spy, she is going with me, hoping luck will aid us in reaching civilization.” Tarzan shrugged his broad shoulders and tossed the note aside. He felt a certa4* sense of relief from responsibility.

PAGE 15

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin