The Indianapolis times. [volume], June 27, 1930, Home Edition, Second Section, Page PAGE 20, Image 20

About The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965

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PAGE 20
OUT OUR WAY
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IBY ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE COLLIER'S WEEKLY
SYNOPSIS
Dean Carey and Cynthia Brown, chorus
Rirl. who is posine as his wife, being a
perfect double for Eleanor Sanver,
heiress, who vanished on her wedding
day. had a final talk, and he agreed to
give her three months in which to make
un her mind, each to live alone in the
house, but to take their meals together
and pretend to the world that ail was
well. It seemed that society already was
beginning to talk about the isolation of
the couple and Cynthia agreed to see
some of Eleanor's friends to nip the gos
sip in the bud. She accepted an invita
tion to luncheon with Mrs. Curwood.
rather a frivolous worldiiiK. but a soua.
leader of some conseuuence and carried
It ofT successfully, but in leaving tne
Ritz she was accosted bv a blackmailing
chorusmau who Insisted that she was
Cynthia the cnorus girl ana fo.lov>ed ner
as she hurried away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THERE were rich pickings to be
had in affairs such as he as
sumed this to be. True, Bennie
Thompson never had acquired any
of those pickings, but hed iicard of
men who had.
Weren’t there producers on Broad
way who get millionaires to back
their shows and in return gave
parties for the millionaires at wnich
chorus girls were or tiered to be
complaisant? And that wasn’t the
only way. There were plenty of
others.
This looked like a real opportu
nity. If the girl had acknowledged
his greeting, Bennie wouldn't have
thought of possible blackmail. But
the minute that she denied know
ing him, and had shown iright,
Bennie's quick mind began plot
ting.
The only reason she could have
for acting in this fashion was lear
lest Bennie discover the identity
of her protector. It never would
had occurred to Bennie that a girl
who was being kept might have
been ashamed ot her position.
Well, she wouldn’t get away irom
him without his finding out who
was putting up for her and all
about it.
But as Cynthia passed out of the
lounge into the small lobby on the
Forty-sixth street side of the hotel
a big bluff man ol middle age ac
costed her.
•‘Hello, Eleanor,’’ he boomed.
“Thought I might get up here in
time to lunch with you and Tessie.
Wanted to see the bride. How is
Mrs. Dean Carey, anyway?’’
“Fine, Rannie,” returned Cynthia.
Obviously this was Tessie Curwood s
husband.
"Tessie gone?”
“To get a haircut," replied Cyn
thia.
“You women!” jeered Curwood.
“When you aren t dancing and
drinking and staying up late and
doing everything possible to make
you lose your looks, you're busy try
ing to get them back.”
“That isn't very gallant,” said
Cynthia.
"Speaking in generalities only.
That girl of mine is pretty enough
to suit me. And as for you—well,
when your mirror doesn't finish the
sentence, I guess Dean does.
“Hope to have you and your hus
band dine with us soon. Sorry I
can't stay and talk, but I had only
a minute in which to say hello.”
Bennie Thompson was close
enough to hear every word that
Curwood said. Mrs. Dean Carey!
That was the title that the man
had given Brown. Bennie’s head
reeled. He had read about the Ca
rey-Sanver nuptials.
Bennie liked to imagine himself
as a man of wealth and fashion
who had won what he termed a
swell society girl. His interests were
in money and display.
And now, unless he'd gone sud
denly crazy, he had been talking to
Eleanor Sanver Carey!
v n n
BENNIE THOMPSON walked out
of the notel in as bewildered
a state of mind as he had ever
experienced. If the detective said
that the man who spoke to the girl
that Bennie believed to be Brown
was a millionaire, then Bennie
wouldn’t argue the matter.
And Curwood had called the girl
by the name of Eleanor; he had
also jocularly given her her mar
ried title of Mrs. Dean Carey.
Well, it was time that Bennie
Thompson had his head examined.
There must be goofy spots in it
that were visible to the naked eye.
To think that hed have gall
enough to dance up to a swell soci
ety woman and hand her the
chatter that he’d give to a Broad
way broad!
"Well, for cryin' out loud,’’ said
Bennie to himseit as he walked
out o* the Rite. It might be paren
iheUcally stated that Bennie
Thompson iad no real business in
the Ritz. But it looked swagger
to be seen lounging around the
expensive hostelry, so Bennie
thought, and accordingly he spent
i oany pleasant half hours there.
“What a sap I was, and what a
wonder she didn’t have me
pinched!” Bennie said to himself
ten minutes later as he crossed
Sixth avenue. Then a recollection
made him stop in the middle of the
street. A truck driver narrowly
avoided running over him and a
policeman lectured him on the peril
of jaywalking.
But, safe on the sidewalk, Ben
nie’s mind still busied itself with a
question: Why had this Mrs. Ca
rey been frightened at seeing him,
at having him speak to her? And
why had her eyes lighted with
recognition?
Bennie puzzled over this matter
for some time. Maybe, he con
cluded, there'd be something in it
for Bennie, after all. He couldn’t
see how or why just yet, but a wise
guy is a wise guy, and Bennie knew
that he was wise.
Meanwhile Cynthia also was pro
ceeding westward across town. She
had been aware that Bennie fol
lowed her through the lounge of the
hotel, and had been more grateful
for the arrival of Randolph Cur
wood than she could have told.
While Curwood spoke to her she
knew that Bennie listened, and with
each word that Tessie’s husband
uttered she knew that her danger
was lessening.
But when she left the hotel she
already had decided on a course
of action. She had been too con
cerned with Eleanor to give any
thought to Cynthia Brown. Un
familiar with theatrical ways as she
was, her brief experience with the
Zogbaum show had nevertheless
taught her that one chorus girl more
or less makes little difference to a
big and spectacular pi’oduction.
However, she had been extremely
careless in not taking measures be
fore this to cover up all traces of
Cynthia Brown.
u a b
SUPPOSE that Zogbaum’s press
agent had thought of making a
great to-do over the disappearance
of one of the chorus girls? Investi
gation might have been started
that might have led to disclosure
of her impersonation.
Fortunately on the very day that
the show opened Cynthia had paid
her rent for a month in advance.
But if by any chance doubt as to
her identity lingered in the mind
of Bennie Thompson, and if he
should let his doubts urge him into
action, such action would inevita
bly lead to her apartment on West
Forty-eighth street.
The thing for her to do was to
pay a visit to her flat at once, make
some explanation as to her pro
longed absence, terminate her lease,
remove her few personal effects and
blot Cynthia Brown out of extence.
She would have taken a taxi, but
after tipping the waiter she had
only a dollar and a half left. She
and Dean had not yet discussed
financial matters. At home there
v. s still enough money in the bag
she had forgotten to bring with her
today to pay incidental taxi fares
for some time to come.
But she must visit Eleanor's bank,
explain the mythical injury to her
right hand, and arrange to get
; funds. But that was in the future.
Just now she had enough money
to transport herself and her one
| trunk, a tiny one, away from the
| apartment. But she must walk
j now*.
Heated despite the touch of spring
in the air. she arrived at the build
• ing on Forty-eighth street. The
! Negro telephone clerk looked at her
incuriously. He had gone in for
: sleight of hand now. and was
mastering some trick with a coin.
She diverted his attention for a
moment by asking him to summon a
taxi, stating that she was giving up
her apartment and would need aid
in taking her trunk downstairs.
“Send a man up in twenty min
utes,” she ordered.
BBS
IN her living room sire busied
herself with her trunk. Pitifully
j few by comparison with the ward
robe in her bedroom closets at the
! Carey house were the garments
heie. She looked at them distaste
fully.
With a touch of horror she
realizecythat three weeks of lux
‘ ury, of % maid’s attentions, of an
—By Williams
almost infinite variety of dresses,
stockings and underthings, would
make a return to such sordidness
as this almost unendurable.
The trunk was almost packed
when the telephone rang. She
glanced at her wrist watch. The
taxi man was ten minutes too early.
Well, she would tell him to wait.
She took the receiver off the hook
and said “Hello.”
“That you, Brown? This is Ben
nie Thompson; I’m downstairs. Can
I come up?”
The world, according to the phi
losophy of Bennie Thompson, was
divided into two classes, saps and
wise guys. There was no well-de
fined line of demarcation between
the two.
Yesterday’s sap was today’s wise
guy, and today’s wise guy was to
morrow’s sap. It was neither hard
work nor intellectual brilliance that
advanced the sap or retarded the
wise guy.
Luck! That’s all it was; plain,
ordinary dumb luck. Equip a guy
with that and he had everything.
Hard work was good enough for
people who didn’t know any better,
but one who had looked sanely at
the world knew that person could
work all his life and never have
enough left over from the pay en
velope to buy himself a rolls.
Take himself, for instance. There
wasn’t a dancer on Broadway that
could do more stuff than Bennie
Thompson. Plenty of personality,
too. But here he was in the chorus,
doing stage managing on the side,
and all he knocked off for himself
was three-quarters of a yard.
Seventy-five dollars a week, and you
couldn’t keep Cleopatra on that
dough.
B B B
AND there was Rollie Johnson
dragging down eight hundred
every Saturday, with night-club
stuff on the side. And Rollie didn’t
have anything that Bennie couldn’t
do twice as well.
Was it hard work that made a
headliner out of Rollie? Not a bit
of it. He fell into something, just
as George Cohan was lucky. Look
at all the big guys in the theater
or in politics or in business.
Analyze the careers of all the big
ones in any racket and you discov
ered that Lady Luck did it all. They
just happened to be around when
she got ready to do her stuff.
Os course you had to keep your
eyes open. You had to recognize
the old girl when she gave you the
nod.
But the biggest dumb-bell on
earth ought to be able to see some
thing when it’s right in front of
him. And he, Bennie Thompson,
had his eyes open.
At that, though, he didn’t see
Lady Luck any too clearly. She
was there, all right, but he couldn’t
tell which way she pointed, nor un
derstand what words her lips
framed.
But—he reluctantly conceded this
—you couldn’t expect Lady Luck to
do all the work. Perhaps luck
wasn’t everything, after all; maybe
the ability to climb the heights re
quired just a trifle more than luck.
(To Be Continued)
THE SON OF TARZAN
...I. P I ~ ~ .— *
All that night, as Korak lay despairing because
he knew the elephant could not unloose ’die knots
that bound him, Meriem and Baynes rode north
along the river. The young Englishman had been
sorely wounded by one of the Arabs’ snots and the
two were therefore doubly anxious now to reach
Bwana’s home. The day was still young when they
came suddenly upon a party hurrying southward.
It was Bwana himself and his sleek black war-
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At sight of Baynes, the big man’s brows con
tracted in a scowl; but he waited to hear the girl’s
story before giving vent to the anger long pent
in his breast. But when she had finished, he
seemed to have forgotten Baynes. His thoughts
were on another subject. “You say that you saw
Korak?’’ he asked “Yes.” replied Meriem, “as
plainly as I see you!” Still doubting, Bwana re
peated his question to Baynes, asking him to de
scribe the ape-man.
—By Martin
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“He is about my age,” said Baynes, "remarkably
muscled and exceedingly tanned.” “His hair and
eyes, what color were they?’ It was Meriem who
answered him. "Korak’s hair is black and his eyes
are grey—like yours,” she said. Bwanna turned to
his head man. “Take Miss Meriem and Mr. Baynes
home,” he said. “I am going inu> the jungle.”
“Let me go with you, Bwana.” pleaded Meriem.
“You are going to search for Korak—l know it.”
Bwana turned sadly hut firmly to her. V
OUR BOARDING HOUSE
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By Edgar Rice Burroughs
“Your place,” he said, “is beside the man you
love.” A litter was rigged for the now feverish
Baynes and the little cavalcade was soon winding
slowly back along the river trail. Bwana stood
watching them until they were out of sight. Not
once had Meriem turned to wave farewell. With
bowed head and drooping shoulders she rode.
Bwana sighed. He loved the little Arab girl as he
might have, loved a daughter. Slowly he turned
toward a nearby tree.
.JUNE 27, 1930
—By Ahern
—By Blosser
—By Crane
—By Small
—By Cowan