Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 132, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 October 1933 — Page 19

OCT. 12, 19?.!5

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BEGIN HEBE TODAY 808 WESTON, son oJ a millionaire, has fallen in love ;th JOAN WARINO, pretty Memphis girl Bob had come to M<-mph! in connection with a textile plant under construction for hi* father * company. BARBARA COURTNEY, a oe!ety girl. Is scheming to win him away from Joan. PAT. Joan's younger sister, is Infatuated w'.'h JERRY FORRESTER, son of her employer. MRS. WARING, hopeful that her two daughters :il marry well and escape the drudgery 'hat has been her lot. bends every effort to give her daughters advantages Joan Is invited to a house party through Barbara's effort*. Barbara realizes Joan will be ill at ease among so many strangers and will therefore appear at a disadvantage before Bob. Joan, offended by Bob's neglect, plays into Barbara s hands by driving to a barbecue supper with JIM WARFIELD. Barbara draws Joan into a bridge game after discovering that she Is a novice and Joan, as Bobs partner, shows up barilv among the experienced plaver* NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWELVE (Continued) Barbara said in a low voice, “You are crazy about her. aren’t you?” She did not pause for his answer, but continued, “I can’t help being sorry. Bob. Don’t ask me why. But I'll try to believe she is all you say she is. I think she is terribly attractive!" Bob decided that was rather generous, this frank acknowledgement of Joan’s charms. He reached over and squeezed her hand. Everybody slept late next morning, straggling down in relays to be served broiled ham, hot waffles with drawn butter, eggs and coffee. Later, Joan joined a group for tennis. It was a game in which she had always excelled. But Bob was not there to witness her gallant fight and triumph, climaxed by Jim's, “Hot stuff! you're the best girl player I’ve seen in a long time!” The game scarcely had begun when Barbara, a spectator, decided she must rush off to Greenville for some shopping, and Bob was corralled to take her. In the afternoon, bridge foursomse were formed. “Do you play?” Barbara asked Joan. "Not very well.” .• *r A FEW minutes later Barbara called from across the room, “Fred and I will take you and Bob on, Joan.” Joan sat down with a feeling of panic. She had played contract only a few times at school, and only wi i girls who, like herself, did not take bridge seriously. At school, a casual game of bridge had been diverting when there was nothing better to do. Whether one won or lost made no difference. But soon she saw there was a difference here. Barbara spread the deck out for a cut, and Joan drew the king of hearts. “You win. It’s your deal,” Barbara said. Joan started to deal. Barbara laughed. “You forgot to let Fred cut them.” Joan flushed. “I’m sorry,” she gathered up the cards again hurriedly. On the first hand, Joan realized how insufficient was her bridge knowledge. Bob made a two-spade bid, and Barbara passed. Joan, having only one spade and no biddable suit, as she thought, passed also. Bob got the bid at two spades. “Great Scott! That was a two demand, Joan,” he exclaimed when Joan laid down her hand. “We could easily have made game at something.” Barbara's eyes glinted. “That’s a lucky break for us, Fred,” she said. Bob made four on the hand. He wrote down the score grimly. “Two extra tricks.” he said. Barbara laughed again. “I’m afraid I * don't know much about bidding,” Joan said in a low tone. She was very nervous now. As the game progressed she realized how little she did know. One bad play followed another. They missed several slams by her failure to bid correctly. At one time she even revoked at a critical period. “Rather careless, Joan," Bob said. CHAPTER THIRTEEN TOAN was determined not to show her embarrassment, trying to think sensibly, conscious of her strained voice and stiff smile. Queer how anything so unimportant as a bridge game could seem so terribly important, as though it might affect the rest of one’s life. She wished she had refused to play. She never would have allowed herself to be drawn into a tennis game, knowing she was a poor player, or gone to a dance if she danced badly. Barbara was playing an unusually good game. She seemed to make impossible contracts by some psychic bid or lucky play. Twice Bob

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praised her with a brief, “Good work. Barbara!” The second rubber ended. Barbara suggested another rubber, since she and Fred were winners. “I’m afraid were not lucky today,” Bob said. “How much do we owe you?” “It's a 30 ruber. That’s $1.50 each. We ll have to take you and Joan on again.” Joan was thinking passionately; “Never again with me!” She felt sick, bruised, as though she had taken a beating. On the way upstairs to get her purse she passed the table where Jim was playing with Enid, Charlie and Caroll. “How’d you come out?” Jim asked. “We lost,” said Joan. “You'll always lose to Barbara,” Jim said dryly. “She knows her game.” Yes, Joan admitted to herself. She would always lose to Barbara. “Bridge is a fool pastime, but I’ll teach you more about it if you’d care to learn,” Jim said. “I’m cutting out of the game after this rubber. If you like I’ll give you a lesson.” Joan accepted. She was grateful to him. She felt easy and natural with Jim. “Jim’s going to give Joan lessons,” Barbara said. “Jim knows lots of games,” Fred agreed. “ ‘Wine women and song.’ The line was written about that fellow.” “Better warn your friend, Bob,” j said Barbara. “She seems to be falling for Jim’s line.” Bob said nothing. He was thoroughly annoyed. He had been so proud to bring Joan here but something certainly had gone wrpng. Joan didn’t seem to be the same girl he had known in Memphis at all. * # * UPSTAIRS they were dressing for dinner. Joan, looking through her meager wardrobe, inspected Pat’s jed chiffon, loaned for the house party. She had brought, also, the white dress she had worn the night she sang at the Junior League benefit. Joan finally decided on the white. It was simpler but smarter than the chiffon. She slipped into the dress, dusted clear skin with powder and added more rouge than usual to her lips. In the mirror • she saw Barbara watching her. Their eyes met and held. “Why,” Joan thought, with a flash of intuition. “She’s afraid of me!” Barbara was wearing a black frock with a cape of go’d sequins. She was a picture of sophistication with her highly colored finger nails and smooth, perfectly waved hair. No detail of her toilet had been overlooked. “We are like two fighters girdling for battle,” Joan thought. There was a touch of high comedy about it all. She studied her reflection for a moment, then unclasped the antique necklace that had been her grandmother’s, lifted it from her slender throat and laid it aside. “Oh, Barbara, tha! dress is gorgeous!” cried Sally from the doorway. “Barbara’s out for more scalps. As if the blond scalp she’s flaunting shouldn't be enough for any girl!” said Coral. “Shades of Helen of Troy, Cleopatra and the Queen of Sheba.” “The girl has glamour,” said Sally. “Joan, you’re lovely,” Carol said. “I like your pale look. It’s mysterious and alluring.” Bob was in the hall when the four girls descended. The sight of Joan stirred him. There was something forlorn about her, despite the gallant set to her head and shoulders. He thought she looked beautiful and a trifle sad. “Hello,” he said to Joan. “Hello.” Her voice was not quite steady, husky. “Will you go in to dinner with me?” What he'wanted to say was, “What’s happened, Joan? You've had me on pins and needles.” “Why, of course,” Joan told him. *OO THE table was centered by a silver basket of roses and jonquils. Dainty place cards marked the places of the guests. “Sally you and Fred there,” Carol was staying. “Bob, you‘here by Barbara. Joan and Jim are over there.” “I’m toasting the best looking girl at the table,” Jim whispered to Joan. “Will you drink 'it with me?” (To Be Continued)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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ALLEY OOP,

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE APE MAN

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"VVhat is the trouble, Jean?” asked her father, tenderly. ‘‘Were you very frightened when the ape-man stole you?” “At first,” repiied the girl hesitantly'. “I thought he was a savage. I found he wasn't—that's all.” “I can't make it out,’ said Parker. “How did he get there?”

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“What does it matter? He’s happy—at least he was- until . . . until—” Jean broke off, a sob in her voice. Then she said, in an altered tone that puzzled Parker: “Oh, father! Did you hear his cry when that poor ape was shot? He’d probably never been unhappy before!”

—By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

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Astonished at the vehemence of his daughter's tone, Parker answered: “But, Jean, he’s not like us.” “He is!” she exclaimed passionately. Seeking to calm what he believed her overstrained nerves. Parker said quietly, “Whether they’re white or not, makes no difference . .

—By; Edgar Bice Burroughs

“Those poeple, living that sort of life . . h continued, “they’ve no emotions! They’re hardly human.” “Human? He’s human, all right!” she burst out. Parker looked sharply at his daughter as Holt walked over to Jean, inquiring casually? “Am I interrupting anything serious?’

PAGE 19

—By Williams

—By Blosser,

—By Crane

—By; Hamlin’

—By Martin