The Key West Citizen Newspaper, September 15, 1952, Page 6

Page 6 THE KEY WEST CITIZEN Monday, September 15, 1952 BARNEY GOOGLE AND SNUFFY SMITH WWE MADE UP MY MIND TO TAKE A VACATION-AND NO ONE IS GOING TO CHANGE T= 60 GO START PACKING / WELL- DID YOU HEAR WHAT I SAID? TH’ RIGHT FORK? BALLS O' FIRE! YE'LL GIT YORE TRAILER STUCK IN A BOGHOLE AN’ IT'LL COST YE TEN DOLLERS TO GIT H@ULED OUT IF YE UH-- PARDON- sie! MRS. JIGGS 1S CALLING THE ONLY PLEASURE I FIND IN A VACATION tS WHEN ITS OVER- CALLIN! ME ? EN (DENIZENS oF THE DEEP !! TI, *SO YOU'RE MARRIED.” THAT OF THE CONTEST, 45 GoRGEOUS / 4 — YOU DOING / THE HELP YOU CAN GE HERE?! T/ T SAW MARLENE SS WHERE HAVE LEAVING.’— ANDO WAS ) YOU BEEN 2 SHE STEAMING KNOCKS You OuT } MAD/— You TOLD THE JUDGES —! YOU AND POPEYE MUST THINK. I'M NEVE MIND!’ \ WELL TALK THERE MAY NOT BE ANY TROUBLE. WE HERD THiS BEEF INTO FUNNEL CANYON GRAZINSS GOOD THERE, AND... ' By Fred Lasswell AN! WE'LL | | | | SNUFFY’ RIGHTER'N RAIN, TIGER DO (T FER SIX FIFTY Chapter Five Isis stood up, slowly, easily, like some slim and merciless jungle beast that pauses to stretch and yawn before it springs. | “The map?” He smiled. “Why, yes. We'll get it now.” He walked around the table and across the room until he stood squarely in front of Regan, who sat slumped in his chair, his body half res ed and half supported by his t » his head a dark, evil mask, and his bloody chin resting on his chest. hand moved in a silver-shadowed arc through the amber light, catching Regan full upon the cheek, spinning nis head upward and to one side with the harsh violence of the blow. It brought Regan out of his stupor to sit star- ing, sullen and defiant, at the dark figure of death that stood before im. “Regan!” Dupré’s voice was colder than a white wind sweep- ing down from an arctic sky. “We're going after the money— and if you talk now you'll have a share in it. If you don’t I'll give you some more of what you had a while ago. Now, this is your last chance. If I take that gag out of your mouth and let you talk, will you hand over the map?” The dark, beaten, bloodstained face was so disfigured that it was only a devil’s mask. The hoarse rumble that fought its way up past the golden gag was no more than the sullen defiance of a beast at bay. But Regan’s blood-shot eyes never left Dupré’s face as his head moved slowly from side to side in an unmistakable gesture of defiance and refusal. Dupré stood staring at him for a moment, the dark pupils of his eyes narrowing into tiny pin points of rage. He whirled, and with a sudden movement the candelabra was in his hand and he was facing Regan again. Savagely he thrust the flaming candles forward until th slender flames were almost licking the skin of Regan’s face. “You remember this, don’t you?” he demanded savagely. The ‘Southernmost Corner \ By CHARLES DUERKES | This corner today addresses it- self to top hats and striped trous- ers of our diplomats in Washington, Jup in D.C. | You've got the green light, lads. | [It is perfectly proper to proceed | ° sions: | | By Paul Robinson Jalong the usual well-defined lines. | | You may get as impolite as you please in regards to the Soviets ! You may sneer ai Communists and DON'T BOTHER PACKING = I'VE CHANGED MY >} MIND = JUST PUT EVERYTHING AWAY! WHAT'S SHE NEVER MIND / SAY A WORD TOTHE + AUDIENCE — YOUR ROYAL come right out and say that the | HIGHNESS ~ Russians are a bunch of rascals. | =, !' NOT THE | Hollywood has given you the go- { PrerresTeirc! ahead Gregory Peck has demon- = — JUST THE strated that it isn’t a sin to clobber the Russkys. He and Anthony Quinn allow as how any American that gets arrested by the Russians should be sprung from the pokey by force, beat up the guards, steal the horses and blow up a battle ship. Mr. Peck even goes so far as to carry off a Russian princess Now, of course, all this happens in “The World In His Arms”, a film version of a lusty novel by | the late Rex Beach. But it is Sam's klist Hollywood cannot mention t coun by name. A “certain power” is the way a writer an enem | blac th fe By Jose Salinas and Rod Reed WHAT'S THE MATTER, SENORITA MAIZIE 7 re e ‘Boston Man”, | the scene for Uncle Sam's chase of Alaska from the Rus- 1 little transaction that caus- ed a bit of a stir several semesters | agone. In so doing he is aided and abetted by Hollywood scripters in splattering a generous smattering of anti-Russian propoganda thru- out the film, which turns out to be a thundering good picture, in case you have not seen it. I can remember when it was con- sidered the next thing to treason snide cracks about the t gentry. I can recall being anded for blasting at Com- over the airlanes. This received a nasty note or a couple of years back, for ng cracks at Commies ut now all is well Says it is just dandy to portray the R a bunch of bums, and Te- is back: the play. Why » the hero comes t and calls a Commie a TTHATS WHAT OUR FOREMAN IA PLANNING TO DO- WHEN THEY SHOT ee tM? Ai y AA \ » TH RIGHT FIELOER WiLL HAV CHAS Like a striking snake, Dupré’s} i, “You remember how it felt on your hands? Maybe you'll like it in your eyes and your mouth and - Do you want it—or to escape the dancing candle flames, but his eyes were locked with Dupré's in a look as savage as Dupre’s own. Unflinching, his eyes cursed the Frenchman through the dancing flames, his face set like a rock in an expres- sion of harsh and immovable de- termination, Suddenly Dupré thrust the flam- ing candles full into Regan’s face, holding them there as Regan’s muffied screams of anguish came through the stifling gag and the nauseous odor of scorched hair and flesh filled the room. He tried to struggle to his feet, swaying his body from side to side, but he was bound fast to the massive chair and the sharp can- dle flames in Dupré’s hand fol- lowed his broken face, turning it into a dark, shapeless mass, burn- ing the spirit, the courage, and the defiance out of the very depths of his soul. One moment he was a scream- ing, tortured, fighting figure; in the next instant he had collapsed, limp within the circles of his bonds, broken and defeated, a mere effigy of the lusty, reckless brawler who had entered the room only an hour before. Dupré stepped back, wrateiine him intently, the candelabra stil! yeady and threatening in his nand. “You'll talk now, won’t you?” he demanded harshly. His anger flared up like a torch and he moved toward Regan again. “I’ve et a good mind to go ahead and nish the job now that I’ve started it.” Shepley stood up and laid a hand on his arm. “I think he'll talk now. Let's try him and see. After all, André, he’ll be no good to us if you kill him.” Dupré hesitated a moment, his rage and passion still holding him tense and deadly. Then he re- laxed, shrugged his shoulders, laughed softly. and| AP Newsfeotures “By God, he'd better talk!” he |said grimly. “Take off his gag, | Shepley, and we'll see what he has to say.” The blood-stained gag fell to | the floor, and for a moment the jonly sounds in the quiet night harsh moans of pain that heir way through Regan’s cracked and blackened lips. But Dupre gave him no time for re- | covery. His voice cracked like a t h in the dusky shadows of lit room. “Where’s the map?” he de-, manded. “And don’t lie to me, or we'll start all over again.” oie lifted his head, his eyes mere scorched and swollen slits in the tortured mask of his face. “My boot,” he mumbled thick- ly. “Inside lining—my right boot. Cut—cut stitches. You'll see.” His head fell forward on his chest, but almost before the wi died in the warm spring air Dup: hed flung himself upon nim, slash- ing away the cords that bound his feet, and pulling and tugging at the boot until it eame free. His hands were trembling as the sharp edge of his knife stashed at the we of the heavy frontier boot. Sally and Shepley were leaning over his shoulder. Shepley’s face strangely taut and hungry as he watched Dupré's ; flying fingers. There was a crisp rustle of pa- per as Dupré’s fingers found their way into the space he had ex- | posed between the lining and the leather of the boot. He flung the boot aside and spread the paper out carefully, almost gently, on the Surface of the table. “Take a look. Shepley,” he said | tensely. “Can you tell where it | is?” ! Shepley bent his dark hawk’s features over the table, his ey intent upon the paper as his fi gers traced its crudely drawn de- tails. Then he straightened, look- | ing first at Sally and then at Dupré. “Yes.” he said. “I know_where it is. I can take you there.” (To be continued) N. Y. “Cats” Rate “Satchmo” Armstrong 2nd Only To Gabriel NEW YORK (®—Hepcats today agree that Louis Armstrong .as only one Peer as a_ trumpet player and he is “out of this | world”. He’s an angel named Gabriel, and some Armstrong fans say: “If Satchmo can take his horn with him when he goes, he'll blow some notes even Old Gabe never heard.” At 52 “Satchmo”—a contraction of stachel mouth—shows no inter- est in making that long vertical journey just to join Gabriel in a | jam session. He is a living symbol | of the whole jazz age, and he’s still having the time of his life. The bugle he started with long ago has turned into a golden horn —the 15 cents he got for his first night’s playing has been followed by many a $15,000 a week. And he enjoyed his old honky-tonk days as much as his later concerts in famous Carnegie Hall. Probably even more. “I got peace of mind,” he said Pay, do is keep on going. “I been blowing that horn 39 years and I never looked back once. You can live on this earth without pouting all the time. “I bet I made more than a mil lion dollars, but I don’t know, I just blow that horn and let my manager count the money. When a man’s in love, what else can he want?” Louie, who is also called “Pops,” is in love with what he is doing, and his remark about making a million dollars is the understate ment of the year. Besides his band income, Armstrong figures he has made some 2,500 recordings | “more than any musician alive.” Wrapping a towel around his whale- rivaling abdomen weighs nearly one-eighth of a ton now—he sat down in his theater dressing room and recalled how as a skinny boy of 13 he blew chow call waifs’ e in New Orleans. “Sometimes, just for fun, I'd hold off a few minutes,” he said, “and the kids'd hol me 6} satchel mouth, blow that horn. We want to scarff.' They meant they were hungri: At 1 m able to do my work, get my | and eat—and all I want to | He | on bis bugle in a Negro | tion with the more prosperous he was. Today Satchmo is the laundry- man’s best friend—he uses 60 to 70 handkerchiefs on a busy day, and he never has to mop his brow with the same one twice in a row. To him that is the great luxury of his success Satchmo said a band, like an army, travels on its stomach. “Bad stomachs and not enough sleep have ruined more good bands than bad music,” he said. His so- licitude for his own vast stomach has a maternal quality, and he can fall asleep “even with the dentist drilling on my teeth.” Armstrong says there are only two things that make a fine musi- cian—ability and living. “We can all take the book and go ‘do-re-mi’,"” he said, “but you got to find the other notes for yourself, and that takes time. You got to live. If takes years, “The higher I go on that trum- pet the lower I think, so’s I won't \split a high note. I look up with my eyes, but I think low." Satchmo soon is leaving for his | fifth tour of Europe, where, ff any- thing, he is even more popular | than in his homeland. On a pre- | vious visit to Rome Satchmo, who }is a Baptist, had an audience with | the Pope while wearing his favorite | good luck charm around his neck |—a gold six-pointed star, a Jewish emblem. “What's wrong with that?” Satchmo demanded, when friends joked about it afterward. ‘The Pope didn’t mind.” Satchmo is proud of his audience with the Pope, and of one other thing “I got credit on Broadway,” Music was printed soon after the Jinvention of printing in Europe jin the 15th Century, STRONG ARM BRAND COFFES Triumph | Coffee | Mill at ALL GROCERS Dr. J. A. Valdes Specisiizing ta Eye Examination and Visual Training OMPLETE SERVICE OM PLICATION of LENSES 2 YSAaS EXPERIENCE In THIS COMMUNITY We Use Beusch ond Lomb Products Exclasively 4 Hour Servies On Any Bye Gloss Preseription OFFICE HOURS: