"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

With an umbrella, two walking sticks and an escort of 15 newshawks, Novelist Herbert George Wells strode up & down the deck of the Bremen as she steamed into New York Harbor. "Did you know that Rasputin's daughter is on the boat?" asked a newshawk. Mr. Wells did not, wished he had. Off to the lounge scurried the newshawks to tell Maria Gregorievna Rasputin Solovief of the great man's disappointment. Said she, in German: "I am so sorry ... er ... who is he?" The daughter of Russia's "Mad Monk" Gregory Rasputin was on her way to Peru, Ind., to ride bareback, train lions and tigers for the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus. For nine years Trainer Rasputin has been traveling with European circuses. Imprisoned during the Revolution, she escaped, fled from Russia to Siberia to France, where her husband died six years later. To support her two daughters, she first danced in a Russian ballet, was roundly hissed as the daughter of Rasputin. Then she found she could "control" animals with her eyes.

Prince Sukhodaya, Siam's abdicated King Prajadhipok, collected the first payment on insurance which he took out several years ago against the loss of his throne. Weekly payments from French and British firms will give shrewd Sukhodaya about $40,000 a year for the rest of his life.

Steelman Charles Michael Schwab, settling down at Monte Carlo for a period of intensive gambling, announced: "I react favorably to the excitement of roulette and the gaming room. The doctors say it's good for my health."

When the last curtain fell on a performance of L'Aiglon in Pittsburgh, freckled Actress Eva Le Gallienne stepped across the footlights. Said she: "Some stars and actors, seeing this small house, wouldn't work. They'd say 'to hell with it' and loaf through their performances. I think you'll agree that each member of our company tonight has given his best. Do me a favor. Go out and get more people to come here and see our show."

Followed by five shabby, placarded cronies from Greenwich Village, Novelist-Poet Maxwell Bodenheim (Georgia May, Ninth Avenue, Naked on Roller Skates) marched to a downtown Manhattan relief agency. At the door the five followers deployed, picketed, raised their placards: "Starvation Standards of Home Relief Make Real Ghost Writers." Real Ghost Writer Bodenheim, pale, unshaven and muss-haired, stormed inside, announced that he was "on the brink of starvation." He had applied for relief six weeks before, but none had come and his landlord had evicted him. He pointed to his threadbare clothes, dirty shirt, unlaced boots. Said he: "All I ask is enough for three meals a day and a cheap room." He waved a grimy hand. "I ask no wine." For 45 minutes, Author Bodenheim was closeted with the relief administrator who promised him $15 for back rent, $2.50 a week for food. Emerging, he gathered the five pickets, marched gaily over to the Writers' Union to celebrate.

Clad in the conventional costume of an English gentleman--striped trousers, black jacket, bowler--Conservative Lord Derby went to a Lone jn hotel to see a preview of 1935 styles for men to be exhibited at the British Industries Fair. Said he, after inspecting the show: "I am already in the fashion. I achieved this position by wearing exactly the same kind of clothes I wore in 1906."

To Singer Grace Moore (One Night of Love), for "raising the standard of cinema entertainment," went the Society of Arts & Sciences' annual Fellowship gold medal.

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