The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1933-12-22
pretty GIRL grave Oide eyes,

most deserted as they left the
table. To the head walters bow,
Paxton said casually: "Good
night, Frank"
Outside in the lobby the two
men hesitated. Bannister said,
L think I'll take a cab. Can 1
drop you anywhere?"
The other shook his head. mo-"
he said, Il think I'll see if I can
find Paradine. Stop in at the Of
flee tomorrow, why don't you?"
Maybe I will" Bannister prom
Used. well, I'll drift along now.
Good night, jim"
Good night, Dave"
Bannister stepped into a cab and
a few minutes later was riding
eastward toward his aunt's home
on the less fashionable side of
town.
He leaned back in the seat and
closed his eyes. 1t had been good
to see jim again. The two had
been friends ever since they first
met. They had been friends in
spite Of the fact that PaXton's
father owned the newspaper and
Bannister's weekly pay envelope
contained So. But Jim had always
been a square shooter, never
pressing advantages that were his
by right of inheritance.
Yes, it had been good to talk
over old times. And then sud-
denly Jim had spoiled everything
by speaking of dinner parties and
golf and bridge games.
Dave Bannister sighed. What
difference did it make whether he
was in WeStcheSter or at Malibu
Beach or in fremont? Bridge.
Golf. The same bores performing
in the same way, though with diff
ferent backgrounds. The same
adulation for current favorites, to
be dropped shortly for newer
crop.
ID ANNISTER saw that the rain
ID was coming down faster. He
noted this absentmindedly. His
thoughts continued in the groove
they had taken.
Of course he knew why he had
refused Jim Paxton's invitation
to join bridge game. There
would be no one at Aunt Hates
house when he arrived there and
there was no reason for him to
return. He knew that when he
arrived he would go to his room
and begin another letter to Adele
Allen-a letter which, quite likely,
he would tear up when it was fin
ished, just as he had torn up the
last one.
But it was certainly better to
tear them up than to send them,
after the other one had been re-
turned. I'm all kinds of fool,
Bannister told himself. He had
belabored himself in the same way
a hundred times before.
That was why he had been so
irritated by PaXton's chatter about
Hollywood. Jim hadn't meant
anything by it, he knew. But sup
pose some of those Internal Cos
sip writer's should pick up some
thing about Adele and himself?
A bitter smile erased that thought
instantly. No chance of thatI
Those professional gossip distrib-
utors kept up with the times at
least. They nlight-and no doubt
WOULD u,ri+a If Ada1o h1lt II Ix,0,1Id
be to couple her name with that
OF Donald Quayle, the leading
man, was so enormous.
Any one who knew Hollywood
at all would understand why Adele
Allen had thrown over Dave Ban
mister for Donald Quayle. Ban
mister was, to be sure, a promiS-
ing young writer. One of the new
names in literature. But Donald
Quayle was an established sue
cess. Handsome. Wealthy, too,
with a box Office following re-
f1ected directly in his contract.
BanniSter stopped thinking
about Quayle and thought about
Adele. Adele's eyes, hooking and
mischievous, danced before him.
Adele's copper tresses. The slim
figure, so perfectly graceful, per-
fectly rounded. Her soft, throaty
laughter. Lips that were warm
and inviting
The picture disappeared in the
cold, drilling darkness outside.
BanniSter had known the girl in
New York three years before. She
had played small part in a pro-
duction that had had long run
in the metropolis. He had met her
at parties, taken her to dinner,
been friendly in a casual way.