Indianapolis Times, Volume 47, Number 313, Indianapolis, Marion County, 10 March 1936 — Page 19

MARCH 10, 1930

Daily Short Story BULLDOG BLUSHES

BEAL-Rt is tough. It's a oneway street; no matter which end you start from, it gets tougher all the way. Dillingers with Derrir gers, don't get beyond the grade ot rack boy in its billiard salons. 3mart boys, cute gals, moms -with him rackets, hi ms with mom rackets, shiv men, gun men. guys with richer reputations than Alvin Karpis are a dime a dozen. On Peal Street all hustle for the coffeeand. But Bulldog Egan is the exception. and he proves his rule. Eight hours a day, six days a week and he does it by love and love alone, j Os course, he can make a pocket billy talk like an Indian club, and a night stick—well, nobody with good sense sticks his head in a whirling propeller. But these are merely adjuncts to Bulldog Egan's dominant charm. It makes no difference whether he is working the 12 to 8, 8 to 4. or 4 to 12. While Bulldog is working, Peal Street, although it skips the gutter on top hats and swagger tails and claims that its dogs are too welltrained for its citizenry to have to carry canes, Peal Street takes on the pacific tone of Fifth-av on Sunday morning. It rests ana waits until Bulldog gets through. Francis Aloysius Egan camp to Teal Street some six years ago, Idled with sweetness and light, attired in the blue and brass uniform of the law, his number hung in bright chromium above and between his eyes and again directly over his heart. tt tt IT wasn’t long before Bulldog got tough enough himself to lock you up for a too intent gaze at that number. He's about five eleven and still a solid 180. Pearl Street tried hard to ignore his intrusion, but a head of red hair, pugnacious as steel wool, kept his number hanging pre- j callously over his right eye, reveal- ' Ing to Pearl Street a left one that left nothing unseen. It sort of chilled anything it rested on, with its lake blue depth of a clear cold morning. Francois Aloysius Egan taught Peal Street with great effort, and with great effort Peal street learned that Station Houses, the Island, the Big House were only convalescent homes attached to the hospital. When he arrived for a tour of duty, regardless of the hour, Peal Street assumed an expression of unnatural innocence. It had to. It didn’t mind a trip to any of his convalescent homes, but it couldn't stand hospital time. And Bulldog Egan was generous with hospital time, and Peal Street needs hospital time so badly that it can't stand the thought of it. Bulldog Is a term of affection. Peal street applies it to Patrolman Francis Aloysius with something of the tremulous awe of a 10-year-old calling Babe Ruth by his first name —“Gee, Babe !” a tt IT was after the big fire that Pealst started calling him Bulldog. The big fire in which Patrolman Egan demonstrated a hitherto unsuspected talent the ability to blush. It has been denied, but there were witnesses. Some said it was the glow of the flames, and some that he was scorched raw'. But the phenomenon has since been repeated, and you may test it out any day by repeating three simple syllables within his hearing —but when you do, have your name and address on your person. It was a holiday fire, allegedly Ignited by a festive match innocently applied to a jolly old-fash-ioned plum pudding. It developed later that the plum pudding must have been served in the coal cellar, surrounded by paint cans, kindling wood, kerosene and rags, but it w r as nevertheless a merry blaze that appeared to have its inception in good clean fun. There were billowing clouds of dense black smoke which effected no casualties except four subsequent cases of double pneumonia in the fire department, and nervous prostration in the ow'ner of the building who had miscalculated the expiration of his insurance policy by 24 hours. In other words, it was no contest, from the standpoint of the engine chaser. But to Peter Makin, aged 5, lone offspring in Five Rear East, the occa: ion was fraught with tragedy. a a tt PETER had been overlooked in the exodus of tenants. This may have been due to the fact that both his parents had been removed to the alcoholic ward of Bellevue Hospital a few hours prior to the blaze. Anyhow. little Peter was still there when the hose had smashed the last window and a fine mushroom of flame was pushing off the roof. The tenants were huddled in the street .under the admiring gaze of neighbors and bystanders, enjoying the first real heat they'd had this winter, when a shrill, agonized scream of horror drew' every eye to the window of Five Front East. Little Peter was there. Little Peter had no business to be there, because he lived in the rear flat and was not encouraged as a playmate for the children who lived in the front flat. But they were all down in the street now, with their parents and other tenants, and Peter had ventured through a series of open doors to look out of their window' and see what all the shouting was about. Peter was beginning to be worried. His apprehensions showed in the shining streams of tears that smeared his dirty face and reflected the glow of the flames. Then, seeing many people in the street far below, and hearing the screams that now rose to greet his appearance, Peter took in the situation and began to bawl desperately, and to hold out his small arms in a manner harrowing to the bystanders five fiery flights below. a a a Harrowing to Patrolman Egan. Patrolman Egan ceased holding back three to five hundred observers. He left them to singe their eyelashes if they would, while he went upstairs to get little Peter Makin. It was not so simple as it appears In the telling. He went upstairs on the inside because the full force of ladders and water was concentrated on another section of the building, as was proper in the general circumstances. * As Patrolman Egan disappeared into the black maw of smoke there were loud outcries and protests and several men struggled to follow him. but were successfully restrained by their females. There having been no white arms to hold back Patrolman Egan from doing his duty as he saw it, not to mention following his inclination which led him up to the top floor four

■ steps at a time. Patrolman Egan made connections with little Peter Makin and wrapped a blanket around his head. But as Patrolman Egan carried him, little Peter cried out sharply with pain for the metal shield on Patrolman Egan's breast was so hot it burned Peter's bare leg, and that hurt. u a a 'T'HEY reached the sidewalk in -*■ safety. If that were all! But it wasn’t. No sooner had Peter's head been unwrapped than he used the first gulp of fresh air to expel a howl of anguish for—“ Emma!” . “Emma Peter, and Patrolman Egan, minus half his hair and with one eyebrow crisped to curly black, surveyed Peter in shocked dismay. “Where’n hell was Emma?” Patrolman Egan wanted to know. “In the k-k-kithin ," sobbed Peter, wildly. Patrolman Egan took back the blanket and wrapping his own singed head in it, went back up for Emma. He was dazed. Dazed with smoke and pain, for he was already badly burned. His hands were raw and seared and the inside of his blanket hood smelled of his own singed flesh. He reached the fifth floor flats anl went through them, all four of them, doggedly—but he found no answer to his roar: “Emma—Em- i ma!” At last, as he cast a final glance about the Rear East kitchen, he saw something cowering behind the stove. * a a IT'S a thing that has happened a dozen times before. Patrolman Egan should have known better. There's been the rescue of the snake charmer's pet python, named Evangeline. The saving of the diving venus’ pet seal. The—but what's the odds? The fact remains that Patrolman Egan went back into the fiery furnace of martyrdom to find little Peter Makin’s Emma, and found her cowering behind the stove. He clutched at her as the only remaining sign of life and made a lunge for the stairs. The stairs eluded him at every step. They crumbled beneath his heavy feet, blazing cheerfully, and reached up long fingers of bright* flame to tickle him. He made the top three flights in nothing flat, and those three caved in behind and above him, crisscrossing their crackling embers trickily, like a monstrous game of jackstraws, sending down showers of sparks upon him and Emma as he staggered blindly down the last two flights. And found the front entrance to the building barred by a fallen f imber that looked to him like a California redwood. Cursing madly, Patrolman Egan disposed of Emma in the only manner conceivable to insure the freedom of both hands and went to work on the hot timber with scorched might and lacerated main. a tt OUTSIDE the burning building the crowd had ceased to yell. Ceased even to exclaim. An awful silence fell upon Peal Street. It was a matter of seconds before the blazing front wall of the tenement would cave in. For the first time there was public feeling concerning Patrolman Egan converged into a unified emotion—and that emotion was awe. As one man, Peal Street mourned Patrolman Egan, who had gone to what must be certain doom for little Peter Makin’s Emma. Peal Street is tough, but Patrolman Egan was tougher. The gaping, horror-stricken crowd saw that miracle. The blazing curtain across the front door parted and through it came a strange, beast-like figure, on all fours —a burly, heavy shouldered figure prowling through fire and smoke with lowered head and forelegs grotesquely arched. “It’s a bulldog,” breathed somebody with a mad giggle. “It’s not a man at all!” The thing crept forward inch by inch, beyond the circle of intolerable heat, where it crouched, reeling on all-fours, swaying, and in the teeth of it was a small striped kitten, mewing mildly. A singed kitten, but neatly, safely clamped by the scruff of its neck, in Patrolman Egan’s powerful jaws. an BEFORE hands of aid could reach him. Patrolman Egan had spat out the kitten, which landed intact on four springed paws, and was caught to the sobbing breast of little Peter Makin. “Aw, gee—that’s Emma!” • Patrolman Egan stood erect. He glared, his eyes red in the crisped frame of burnt lashes. “What?” he roared. “That’s Emma?” A wave of hysterical laughter broken with sobbing awe rose up to engulf him, and grinning ;-''<eepi-'hly Patrolman Egan blushed a deep, pervasive crimson. Then he reeled oddly, turned a little aside on his heavy heels, and fell. When he came out of the hospital they were waiting for him. All Peal-st. Not with honors, not with bands or bunting. Not ever, with words of embarrassed praise. Bui with the rarer tribute of eight hours a day of reasonably good behavior. Today you may test the matter, if you will. It’s true. Pcal-st respects the Law for at least eight hours a day—and Bulldog Egan blushes, still, if you but murmur within his hearing the potent syllables? “Me-e-ow!” CITY MAN APPOINTED AIRWAY TRAFFIC CHIEF Earl F. Ward Gets Supervisor’s Post in Washington. Times Uprcial WASHINGTON. March 10.—Earl F. Ward, who has been appointed airway traffic control supervisor for the Bureau of Air Commerce, is a native of Indianapolis. He served in the Marine Corps aviation during the World War and has been engaged in the civilian air service since that time. In 1919 he waas a test pilot for the Curtiss Aeroplane and Motor Cos. and engaged in airplane sales and exhibition work. Later he was an air mail pilot with the National Air Transport Cos. Since 1927 he had been associated with American Airlines, Inc., until his recent assignment as air traffic co-ordinator for the Newark (N. J.) Airport. Mr. Ward has flown 7000 hours as a pilot. His new assignment establishes his headquarters here.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

I ME.Hi PAY AN I TOLD^ XM Jf T <#3so % 'EM ALLTYA W{ wasn't THAT HORSt YOU \ A TOIR ’v? HORSE \ % YESTERDAV i '1 I % W^N X NAMED DARNED HEELS fl? XX? vvORYNU V WELL,HE WAS A7O TOT VTY'' / f HAND ME { > SHOT, AN HE CAME IN \ > -DOWN N\Y 1 rur^\ ( AN' FOU&'Tf J AND I SQUIRREL f . . ZZ. V yJ DVDNT H/WE 5 'RIFLE I 7 ILL 60 A farth\ng aEE A 6UY - % ON HIM) y ABOUT )’ C AW-W-K -rL— f AN INDIAN

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—

'faJ KNOW.-.AN' IT’S X ...T7HATS m3 READ “WAT f I C3OT-D BE AIR-TGKT! NUMBER \ LICENSE 4 THE POLICE REALLY 9X 4372 ...TE4H...MEAH! ) NUMBER AKJ THINK YOU DID , R 4372 9 OKAY....THANKS FDR J C^™ C 5 LY/ 7ELL * y BREAK THAT / THE: INFORMATION !! J

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

ALLEY OOP

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

THE TARZAN TWINS

With stirring cries, the ape-man led his battlemad cohorts in a concerted attack on Gudah the Terrible; but the great beast was invulnerable. Two more apes died valiantly in that fruitless assault, and the others were forced to retreat. Gudah was still master.

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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

As the elephant stood surveying his foes uncertainly, Tarzan faced an appalling dilevana. With his allies as a screen, should he flee and resume his search for Dick and Doc, or should he remain and fight with the warrior apes in this desperate, seemingly hopeless struggle?

—By Ahern

Y ——7 *s / SEE TWS-CKE WD!V<LED \ WEENIE IN A D.SH ,iY \ PEA'S IN ANCTH&Q. - \~ TWO SUCES OP ROTATES { IN ANOTHER— CNE SPOON S OF CORN IN A BOWL ONE l ‘ j rn SLICE OF eWCON IN ANOTHER <., j. n DISH, AND ONE SLICE CP B V ii aP BREAD IN A LOAF WRAPPER.] iDI m CIS SWOVVIN' YOU WHY fT I MEN OIT ACCUSED Or DIRTYJM' i \ 1 \ A LOT Or DISHES WHEN ' \ ‘ V they HArTA OT THER. ) == *“ j, WHY MQTHtRS GET GRAY p, BY nia scbvice. *xc. t. m dec VS. p*t. orr. >'

f \AH\6VtR6 /\YiO ALL \ \HKG\NTI'o

To the Tarzan Twins he was bound by ties of flesh and blood and a noble human heritage. But bonds of loyalty and gratitude linked him as well to his ally apes, his foster-brothers of the jungle. He trembled now in the balance between man and beast—for Tarzan was both!

OUT OUR WAY

IjJ TM AFRAID Tt>u MADE A VERY BAD IF ATTEMPT TO ALIBI YXJRSELF, KID ! LICENSE J Ik NUMBER 9X 4372 WAS ISSUED ID < A. JEREMIAH HAMPDEN....AND HE HAPPENS )

.. . The plight of the Tarzan Twins was approaching a point where it soon would be-beyond human interference, for Intamo, the witch-doctor, stood now over the pot in which the boys’ evening meal was being prepared. He emptied into it the vial of dreadful poison!

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Hamlin

—By Martin

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

COMIC PAGE

—By Crane