Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 123, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 October 1933 — Page 13

OCT. 2, 193$

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BEGIN HERE TODAT B'ib Weston. non of a millionaire. and Joan Waring, a Memphis girl, are attracted to arh other on the train, pn root* to Memphis Joan has ipft rollpge before graduation to assist hr family In a financial emergency. Bob I* coming to Memphis In conn*ction with the cons'ruction of a southern branch of his father's mills. Bob speaics to Toan but. thinking he Is artlng a flirtation, she rebuffs ntm. He loses sight of her at the station but tells a friend. Duke Turner, that he Is determined to And her Joan s father dead, was a member of an ar!*ocraMC family and Mrs Waring longs for her daughters to enjoy the sodal position rightfully theirs Pat. who la 18 and has a Job as a typist, loves pleasure and pretty clothes and plans to escape the privations and monopoly of her mother's life through a rich marriage Joan sees Bob In a tea room but he does not see her. Through Molly Davis a society girl. Joan sings at a Junior League benefit entertainment which Bob attends After the program he is waiting for Joan he n his path is barred bv Barbara Courtney, whom he had known f> counter he loses .Joan again NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER THREE He might as well leave, Bob thought. There wasn’t a soul he cared about dancing with when the entertainment was finished, and tomorrow would be a stiff day. He would explain to Duke and make his departure quietly. Suddenly, the orchestra broke Into the strains of an old favorite. “Roses of Picardy.” Bob sat back In his seat. A slender girl in her eyes brushed by an ineffable charm and wistfulness, her dark hair like wings against her cheeks, stepped out on the platform. Bob stared at her, amazed, incredulous. Then Joan lifted her strong young voice, the clear, sweet notes soaring upward, filling the room. There was a burst of applause as she concluded the number ‘‘That's my girl, Duke,” Bob said. ‘‘Your girl?” ‘‘Joan, Joan!” Duke stared. Then he laughed “What do you know about that! Joan, of course. Funny I couldn’t remember her first name. She's the girl I was talking about at the tea shop.” ‘‘She was there!” “You would have seen her when she left, but you were buried in a blueprint.” “It doesn’t matter now since I’ve found her. You said her last name is ‘Warren?’ ” “Yes,” said Duke. “Waring.” He pronounced it “Warring.” “Nice kid, too.” “Joan Warren," Bob said, laughing softly. “That’s not a wonderful enough name for a girl like that. I’ll change it!" a a u. HE was in high spirits, tremendously excited. He had found her again and she was not only beautiful and sweet but talented as well. The applause had brought Joan back. She stood quietly for a moment, a smile curving her lips, while the orchestra played the introduction to her encore. She could see Pat in her place, completely at ease with the confidence of the very young and beautiful. And then Joan’s eyes met the smiling gray eyes of the young man not far away. Her voice rose again, happily, in the opening strain of the song. Again the audience applauded enthusiastically, but Joan left the stage. Bob hurried to the door, scanning the fashionably dressed women and girls as they thronged through. The mezzanine floor was suddenly swarming. He caught a glimpse of Duke, grinning. Duke came nearer, “Well, Mr. Doorkeeper, what luck?” "She’s still inside. Hasn’t come through.” "There’s another door.” Bob turned, startled. It was then he saw Joan. She was standing in a small group and the blond girl he had seen at the train was with her. Duke followed his eyes. “Well, you won’t need me around, I guess. See you soon. Bob.” “Thanks, Duke. I enjoyed the show.” The mezzanine still milled with people, groups gathering, girls who had appeared on the program being stopped by admiring friends. “I loved your number—and I thought the costumes were the cleverest.” Bob, standing alone near the balcony rail, heard it over and pver again. And then he saw the circle about Joan break. She and the blond girl turned, making their way toward the elevator. He started in pursuit, almost running over a pretty gifl Who stepped into his path. "Bob Weston!” She barred his way. "Barbara! Wait one moment, will |*ou? I’ll be back.” He dashed for the elevator and reached it just as the door slammed pnd the lift dropped downward. CHAPTER FOUR THE hotel lobby was filled with people when Bob reached it. but the girl he sought was not there. She was not in front of the hotel or at the side entrance, search revealed. He felt sick with disappointment. But, he told himself, she would not be hard to find now. She had r glorious voice. She sang at entertainments. And her name was Joan Warren. Well, the night had yielded something. Barbara Courtney was waiting when he returned. "Don’t bother to explain. Bob,” she said. ”1 suppose you had a telegram to send or somebody called you to the phone or your bootlegger was waiting.” "Three bad guesses. Shall I explain?" "Don't bother. I’m so terribly glad to see you it doesn't matter.” That was one of the nice things about Barbara. She never made things difficult. "But I am hurt because you didn't call me when you first got here! I called and called and couldn't get you,” she went on. • I planned to call you soon. I’ve been busy working on plans for the textile plant—" • But you’ll play around some. Bob. What about tomorrow night?

A /we’re carrying ] REN D / J

Some of us are going to the club for dinner and then to the Silver Slipper later." He hesitated. “I'm really frightfully busy. I've a bunch of blueprints to check tomorrow.” “Please, Bob! It's going to be an awfully nice party.” “All right then. I really wanted to—” “It’s settled! And will you pick me up, Bob? I'm going to break a date for you.” It was hard to refuse Barbara. She was a nice kid and he’d rather liked her the summer they were on the same house party in Maine. His father had met her, too, when she came to New York and thought she was A-l. a a a WHEN Barbara had gone he went to his room and studied the list of Warrens in the telephone directory. Well, there was nothing else to do. He would go through the list systematically. Half way through, some time later, he thought he detected an amused note in the operator’s voice. He crimsoned, but went doggedly on. Some of the Warrens were out. He made pencil notations of these. “May I speak to Joan, please?” About the twelfth time he asked that a voice said pleasantly, “Just a moment.” A man’s voice answered. Someone thought he wanted to speak to “Joe.’’ Bob's spirits slumped again. At the end of a weary round of phone calls, confidence was leaving him. Illogically, he was angry with Barbara Courtney. If Barbara hadn’t stopped him, he would have reached Joan before she stepped in the elevator. If she had not stopped him, he would be with Joan now—driving maybe, or watching a picture show, or perhaps they’d be in the living room of her home wdth an open fire and the lights turned low. His blueprints were in a case. The small trunk filled with his favorite books—books which had supplied all his need for entertainment during six months in the Azores—was waiting to be unpacked. But he began undressing. He was tired. The night was flat. He would find Joan if he had to employ every detective in Memphis to do it. “I’m getting off my head,” he thought. “I’m going to bed and sleep off this sentimental spree.” But the romantic hangover was just as bad. tt a tt JOAN was having her blue moments too. She was punishing herself with the thought that she would never see him again. If she had only waited a moment longer he probably would have joined them. But she had looked back and a girl was talking with him So she had rushed away with Pat as though she wanted to get away from him. What was the matter with girls that they acted like that? “I’ll never see him again,” she thought. “Opportunities don’t keep coming to people.” The mood persisted and Joan in such a mood was as nice to have about as an ice pack on a cold, damp day, according to Pat. It was three days later. Pat had received a $5 a month raise and her elation was somewhat damp-' ened by Joan’s lack of enthusiasm. “Os course I'm glad, darling,” Joan said. “I think it’s wonderful.” “You seem thrilled all njiit!” retorted Pat. She was lying on the davenport and reached for the magazine she had discarded. “Anyhow,” she went on, “it’s unusual in these imes to get any kind of raise. Jerry said so.” “Jerry?” queried her mother. “His family own the business. He’s swell.” “Don’t say ‘swell,’” reproved her mother. “It doesn’t sound nice. How long have you known the young man?” “Oh. several weeks,” Pat said carelessly. The doorbell rang a few minutes later and Pat flew to it. She came back with color high in her cheeks. "Joan, lend me your rouge and lipstick. Hurry! I can’t find mine.” “What are you organizing for?” Bill, who had Just entered the room, asked. “I'm going to a fire, darling,” Pat answered impudently. “Look out of the window and you’ll see the little red wagon.” n n a BILL went to the window and looked out. A long, low black car with nickel trimmings was drawn up at the curb, looking, somehow, out of place on the street. “The rich have descended upon us.” Bill began. “Oh, be as simple as you like, Bill,” Pat said airly. Her eyes were shinging. She was applying lipstick and rouge, pinching hen eyelashes upward to make them curl, going through motions with which the family was familiar. “If you're interested I'll tell you that I’m having dinner downtown with Jerome Forrester,” Pat said. “He's rich and attractive. Incidentally his failing is blonds—like me. I’ve had lunch with him twice and there’s no reason why I can’t go to dinner with him.” “Well, you can’t,” Bill said. “Pat ” her mother began. “Can’t I?" said Pat rebeiliously. "Now. Mother, don't be 90! That old stuff went out with hair nets.” She was off in a sudden whirl. “My blue beret oh. Mother, where did you put it? Don’t wait up for me, Joan. Put a key in the mail box." Joan saw Pat wave a careless hand to a young man coming up the walk. But it was a full moment before she recognized the young man as Dick Thornton. And even more difficult a few moments later, listening to his deep, assured voice. Yes. mother was right. Dick had changed. He was a man now, fine and dependable. Any girl should be proud to possess his affections. (To Be Continued)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

MZA HAVE. Y GOT ANYMORE: fcGA.OFF\CER-=TH *\| PARROTS LIRE in' ONE ]/ M WAS THE ONLY PARROT V LN -BOUGHT I HAD THAT COULD SPEAK*S MEAN ONE 1 X \ THE JARSON OF THE j lAT CAN TALK j ( UNDERWORLD? "BUT £•; CHAT TER, OR J h HERE IS A PARROT ILL S O ILL / | j L, IF YOU )> AND THAT INCLUDES J , E 9 TWELVE lessons in & • vITvV ANY vernacular j TOMORROW-

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

HERE’S TWE DOPE , BABV. I’VE REFORMED. { PINE ! THEM I’ll FURNISH W WO CARP PIAVIN6, SEE. 1 WANT TOGEtIi SUPPLIES, AMO YOU FURMtSM m IVi THE MIMING BUSINESS, BUT I DON'T KNOW )k THE BRAINS, AND vaiE'lc SPLIT f nothin' about IT. YOU NNOVAJ THE RACKET, ZX 50-50 ON THE PROFITS. ,

ALLEY OOP

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

TARZAN THE APE MAN

When Tarzan swung out of sight, the she-ape decided to return to the tree where Jean huddled, terrified. The ape advanced slowly. Though her intentions were friendly, nature had given her a ferocious look and Jean, watching the creature's return, was too terrified to move.

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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

The ape clambered up the tree. When she reached the trembling girl, she went through the patting, greeting ceremonial that Tarzan and herself had given each other. Half-dead with fright, Jean returned the pats. Then, with a look of sentimental devotion, the ape squatted down beside the girl.

—By; 'Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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Next, she put her arms around Jean, grunting companionably. Jean sat motionless, not even daring to look sideways at the hairy creature. All of which Tarzan saw as he watched from behind the tree trunk. Evidently he was satisfied, for he sw'ung off through the trees again.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Meantime, some distance away, several bucks were feeding. As Tarzan came quietly swinging in their direction, they flung their heads up, sniffed and began trotting back and forth nervously and uncertainly. Now. in the branches above them, Tarzan crouched, knife in hand, ready for his spring.

PAGE 13

—By; Williams

—By Blosser

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