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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (June 19, 1923)
Rough-Hewn Dorothy Canfield 1 (Continued From Yesterday.) * 1 *01*1,*, Neale Crittenden, to >ears old, I* a typical, red-blooded American bo*, thing hath his parents in I'nion Hill a village near New York oily. Because of the number of foreigners In the tillage his parents send him to a private school taught by Miss A underwater. He Is \erv fond of outdoor sports, pla.t s second bae'e on the IfHncnrh atenue baseball team and takes part In all of the boyish full of the community. By sating pennies he has purchased a new shinny slirk of which he is very proud. (Continued Front Yesterday.) He didn't Ree what happened. He ran. He flew. As he rounded sec i"id he caught a glimpse of the left fielder and shortstop falling over their feet, both trying to pick up the hall. As he turned the corner at third he saw the pitcher starting to run In to cover the plate and guess ing that the catcher was chasing a wild throw. Neale put his head down and sprinted for dear life. Fifteen feet from the plate he dove, and shot over in a cloud of dust. Neale, the ball, and the pitcher all arrived there at the same moment, but a partial umpire called It "safe." Don Roberts fouled to the catcher. Fatty Schwartz fanned. But the game was won. With his chest a couple of Inches bigger than normal, Neale started for home, and they one the sidewalk watching him. stood his father, look ing right at him, instead of over his head as Father was apt to do. Father patted him on the shoulder, "That was a good swat. Neale,’ he said. Neale wriggled. "Well, we had to have a hit," he explained, "and I knew Don and Fatty wouldn't do much.” Ilia father found no comment to cmake. Neale had said his say. Silent P*as Iroquois, they walked home to supper. The next, afternoon Father brought him a Louisville Slugger hit and Neale was In the seventh heaven. CHAPTER V. The end of school always meant the beginning of the yearly romance, the beginning of the two months when Neale really lived all the time, not .iust after 4 o'clock, and on Satur days. Ar.d yet it was not all made up of games! In fact there weren't any games at all. Queer! Neale's life was largely made up of things that happened over and over the same way, and so did this. The last duy of school he always went home and found the house smelling trunky and Mother with piles of clothes folded on all the chairs, pack ing a Saratoga trurj*. All the after noon she would pack it. putting things in and taking things out to make room for other things, anib when Father came home, things would be all unfinished. It happened lust that way, always. When Father came home things were all unfin ished anil Father took out. his watch, and said the expressman had said he'd come at 5:30, and Mother answered. "You know they're always two houro late." Nevertheless she stopped taking things out. and there was a scramble and things put in any old way, with a good deal of laughing and funning from Father and Mother, finally with Mother and Neale sitting on the lid, ^Father in his shirt sleeves strapped ^and locked it. Then while they were eating supper, the expressman drove up (only an hour late, no. not even quite an hour late, Neale thought), and took the trunk away, and now Neale felt they were going. He lay awake that night thinking of the coming adventure, his heart beating faster, and then it was morn ing. and Mother was shaking him and getting him into his clothes. A hur ried breakfast on lukewarm oatmeal. They went outside and got into a coupe standing there. Father and Mother sat on the back seat, and Nrald on the little front seat you had to unfold. Then Jog, jog, they went along Griffith street down the curlycue road, the horse's feet going clatter on the cobblestones. Then jog. jog. jog again till at last they stopped and got out. They had come to the ferry. When the boat got across. It went smash into the piles and slid along into the dock, where men hitched it fast with iron hooks and pulled the hooks tight, by turning a wheel around. Neale always noticed just how such things were managed, and Father always gave him plenty of time to look. After Father had bought the tickets and checked the baggage, they got on the train, and Father and Mother talked for a while, till Father said, with a long breath, "Well, it might as well be soon as late," and kissed Mother and she kissed him. Until Neale was a pretty big boy. Father always stopped and kissed him too. But Neale felt that this was quite a different kiss, and he noticed too, that after it, Father always kissed Mother again, and held his cheek for an instant close to hers. But after this he always walked right away, quietly, turning around once or twice to wave hie hat at them, his face as composed as that of any man in the crowd com ing and going heside the train. Mother let Neale settle things in the train, making no comment as he fussed over it, putting the satchel up In the rack, and then deciding that it would be better to have it down where he could put his feet on it, arranging his coat and her ’golf-cape over the back of the seat and then remembering the book be tween the windows. Then the train started. A smoky tunnel, a straggly belt of half-city—and then the real country. Neale never called anything real country unless there were cows in the fields. He was always astonishingly glad to see it, and stared and stared till his eyes ached, and dropped shut, and he had a nap, hunched up with his feet on te seat. When he woke up there was more real country, and finally they got there. There was Grandfather Crittenden waiting for them, with the team and the thiAse-seater, only the two back seats were out to make roofn for the big trunk. This was something like living! Next morning vacation really be gan with a rush outdoors to see the mill, the sawmill, the center of Neale's life in the country. There it was, just a» it ought to he, the big saw snarling its way through a pine log, and old Silas with the lever in his hand, standing as though he hadn't moved since the day Neale had gone away last September. Neale ran around to the hack, climbed on the carriage and rode back and forth as Silas fed the log methodically down on the saw, and raced It back to set a fresh cut. After a time Neale went down to the far end of the mill where the fresh sawed boards fell off from the logs. A new lad he didn't know was "taking away.” He wasn't keeping up with his work very well, and to help him Neale picked up a slab and started to rut it into stove lengths on the cut-off saw. "Hey there! IVacher doin'? You'll saw your arm off, boy"’ yelled the lad. But Silas, stopping the saw so that his voice could be heard, saved Neale s face. "Let be, Nat. He won't get hurt. He knows more about the mill now than you do, or ever will.” Neale felt his heart swell with pride. He sawed pine slabs till his back ached from lifting and his shirt and hands were black from the dried reein. There were other things to do at Grandfather Crittenden'*, all the other boys do in the country, and Neale did them all. But none of them came up to the mill. Bay in and day out it was around the mill that he spent his time, lying on the pilis of fresh sawed boards in the sun light, watching teamsters roll huge logs on the skidway with canthooks. But after supper, when the mill was .#1 ut down, he used to saunter out to it, In the long soft twilight, and then tiptoe down into the cellar and play uneasily in the sawdust, casting scared looks now and then at thp shining semi circle of the saw. with its wicked hooked teeth just over his iiead. One day, as he played thus about the mill, his destiny came and tapped him on the shoulder, and he knew not that day from any other day. As he was watching Silas take up the slack In a belt, a strange man, an elderly, powerful, bent, old country mm came into th" mill, and asked, without salutations to any one, “Where's Joe?" “Gone to town for feed," said Silas. He added with a grin, “Mr. Burton, make you acquainted with a relation of yours, Ban'el's boy." He jerked his head at Neale. The stranger looked hard at the boy, out of sharp eyes, and the hard er he looked the sharper grew his eyes “What's he doin’ here?" he asked Silas. Oh, he's always hangm’ round He knows the trade as well as some folks twice his size," said Silas "Well, what do think of the sawyer's trade?" asked the old man suddenly of Neale. Neale could not think of anything to answer except that he guessed he liked it all right. The stranger seemed to dismiss him from his mind, fingered his gray goatee, and looked all around as if seeing the establishment for the first time. “Mebbe. Mebbe. All right for Massachusetts pine and saft maple. But if you want to see a real mill, that'll handle tough Vermont yellow birch and rock-maple, you come back to Ashley with me." The stranger stayed to supper, and Neale learned that he wag his great uncle Burton Crittenden. He asked many sharp-sounding questions that made his brother, Neale's grand father. snort and aay hotly, "Oh, we all know there ain't any proper mill practice outside Vermont, but the Commonwealth Massachusetts is managing to worry along somehow, In her shiftless fashion." But when the old man spoke to Neale there was a gentler note in his voice. He talked of sugaring off. and twenty-twnfoot snowdrifts, and asked Neale's mother If she wouldn't send the hoy to Ashley some time, to visit his great-uncle His mother agreed to do it—"some time.'’ CHAPTER VI Culture in the Air, April 10. 1*98. Old Jeanne Amlgorena was on her way to Bayonne to complain to her niece of her rheumatisn) and her daughter-inlaw. She detested the railroad, as she did everything new and not Basque, but at her age it was not easy to foot it along the 14 kilometers of white road between Midassoa and Bayonne. So, grimly disapproving, she hoisted her square, stalwart, black-dad body into the third-class compartment of the slow way-train which comes shuffling up from the Spanish frontier about noon. She did not altogether approve of the hatted, conventionally dressed women she passed half an hour later In the sunny streets of the little city on her way to the home of Anna Etchergary. Anna was concierge of one of the apartment houses on the Rue Thiers, opposite the Old Castle, and tA reach it, Jeanne had to pass through the new quarter of Bayonne, the hig open square where fine shops are and the Frenchified madames walking about. Bayonne was a poor enough apology for a Basque city, thought Jeanne, but its somewhat backsliding and partly Gascon and Spanish inhabitants were at least not grlmanctng monkeys ss those Parisians. She strode along with the swift, sure, poised gait of sandal-wearing people, her mind full of the griev ances she wanted to pour out to Anna; the disrespect of her son's wife, and the scandalous extrava gances of her expenditures. "Con sider, Anna," she rehearsed her story beforehand. "She uses the eggs herself, instead of sending them to market. She serves omelettes, as though Mitchel's house were a hotel! And she will not spin! She uses Michel's money to buy yarn! To think that money from the Ami gorena farm should go to buy yarn, with a distaff hanging on the wall and 10 Idle, good-for nothing finger* at the end of her arms." On the terrible subject of lack of children in that house Jeanne could not trust herself to speak. It was too sore a spot that with all Jeanne's five grown sons, she had not a grand child to hold in her arms. None of her native capacity for emotion had been used in her youth, nor frittered away later in the second hand make believers of modern life It had all been poured out upon children; on her five eons, and On the one little dark eyed. black-haired daughter, the little Marie—who had died at 11. so many years ago. just after her first com munion—the blessed saint Marise had looked slim and straight in her white dress! The Blessed Virgin had found her namesake too sweet to wait for, and had taken her at once. (Continued In The Morning Bee.) Son of News-Times Editor Buys York, (Neb.) Democrat York, Neb, June IS.—Edward J. Curran, son of Thomas Curran, pub lisher of the York Daily News Time*, ha* bought the weekly Democrat from fudge George F, Corcoran The Demo crat was established In 1881. The n»w owner will continue to publish the paper as a weekly. 7 he East and the West Meet at the Kearney Military Academy A Boarding School for Boy3. Operated by the Episcopal Church 1,733 at Kearney, Neb., the Midway City. Accredited by Universities and War Dept. High School and College Preparatory. A Lower School for Fifth to Eighth Grades. Fall Tarm Begins September 12th Write Now to Headmaster for Information. Gome to the University of Omaha Non-Sectarian Co-Educational ‘‘Wi»dom, like the Taber nacle of old, muat take up Its abode among the people." Summer School faculty includes a choir of teachers of nation-wido reputation. k Inquire concerning reg istration for Special Short Courses. Summer Session Continues From BJune 18th to July 27th HE UNIVERSITY OF OMAHA points to a record of over 13 years of notably successful work. Created and made possible by the business and professional men of this city, the University of Omaha offers exceptional opportunities to those who wish to secure an educa tion at a reasonable expense. Under excellent moral and spiritual atmosphere. Highest class co-educational college in Omaha. Every facility possible for the physical development of the individual—modern gymnasium and wholesome athletic spirit. DEPT. OF.INSTRUCTION College of Liberal Arts and Sciences Department of Fine and Applied Arts Home Economics Department Teachers’ Training School—-Kinder* garten Department Pre-Medical Department School of Law Two Years of Engineering Extension Department Department of Music and Expression WRITE FOR CATALOGUE ^ Summer session just be gun. You can still reg ister. The University of Omaha offers young people courses leading to degrees at a lower cost and equal to those offered by any western university. Enlarged faculty and im proved curriculum. .In creased equipment. Fall Term Begins September 17 For Information Writa University of Omaha Drpartmrnt "N” Beatrice Fairfax ProbIem§ That Perplex Georgia: You are asking me ques tions which you can look up yourself in books or obtain through and libra ry. Write to the libarry commission at the state house In Lincoln and ask them to send you material on these subjects. You can buy a copy of the Nebraska laws through the secretary of state at Lincoln. Some of the laws are pub lished saparately as pamphlets, so If it is one particular law you want, so specify. Doubtless In your own town there is a lawyer. He would have a copy of the latest Nebraska statutes with the session laws passed since the statutes were compiled. Remember in looking up a law that a law may be changed every two years. So after you have found the statute you will have to check up with the laws of each subsequent session to make sure there has been no change. I'nless you know how to look up a law, better consult an attorney. The legislature has Just recently ad Journed. They meet every two years unless a special session is called. The next session, therefore, will be in 1925. Congress convenes In the fall You ask who Is chief justice, but do not specify of which court. Our state chief Justice is Andrew Morrissey. For names of members of the board of pardons write the secretary of state. Consult the state constitution for term and salaries of state officers. Betty: Some people are just naturally more reserved than others. If they are reserved, quiet and stiff. It is only natural to suppose they wllll not he as popular as their friends who meet people easily and who converse Interestingly. But you know we can t make ourselves gllh and clever and fascinating If wa are not that way— can we? So what's the reserved girl going to do? She should proceed in a neutral sensible way. to overcome her hand! cap. She should get away from self consciousness by interesting herself in other people. Being sincerely inter rated In others Is bound to make you Interesting Itead good literature and discuss it intelligently. Take up ath letic sports which will make you companionable to others It may take years to round vour self out into a broad minded, svmpn thetic person, but you will succeed. And you will And as you grow older that you will be interesting to Ane people, people who think and people who count for something Don’t make the mistake of think ing that you can change yourself overnight, or that loud talking and misconduct will make you Interesting. You can never earn the true affection of anyone worth while In that way. Dear Miss .Fairfax: Why do I make a big hit with other women hut never have a man call on me a second time? I like men s society and my women friends really go out St. Francis Academy Columbus, Nebraska A School for Girl*, Conducted bjr the Sitter* of St. Franci* of Perpetual Adocation Especially noted for the thoroughnes* of the various courses. Elementary. Intermediate, Commercial, Muaic, Training and Collage Preparatory. Special Course* in Mutic. Art and Domestic Science. Parent# and Guar dians ere offered ejreptional opportunities. Boys under 13 are admitted. Reorganised by the State, end approved for Toachera' Certificates by the Nebraska State Board of Education, For Full Particulars Writa to Siiter Superior*** of their way to Introduce me to any nice chaps they happen to know. But the result Is always disappointing. I never make a hit. I always dress nicely, have a lovely home, and mother always allows me to have a plate of sandwiches and some coffee when chaps call. But I never see them after the first call. 1 am not bashful or self conscious or unex perienced socially. But he just, never comes back. I saw your article on school teachers, so I thought I would write. I am not a teacher but I am in the name tlx. ‘'Interested.” My dear girl, the fact that women like you proves that >ou are worth while. Women are excellent judges. You talk along for hours pleasantly but not feelingly— entertainingly even, but not personally. Therefore, the man a mind registers no per sonal impre'-lon of you. Take an in terest. in his affairs and above all be a good listener. Equip YOURSELF for a career of satisfaction and usefulness by at tending Midland College. Courses are offered in arts, sciences, teaching, business, economics, music, etc. Considering the high character of the com forts and opportunities at Midland College, the expenses of tuition and living are very low. Information Will Be Gladly Furnished Upon Request Midland College J. F. Krueger, D D., PH.D., President FREMONT, NEB. illhat does ijour \Co/7i/nerc/a/ScDoo/ ) Diploma fell ifour prospective employer When you approach your prospective employer there are many things he will wish to know. One of the first and most important things will be: Are you a graduate of an “accredited” Com mercial School. Don’t forget that employers are dealing with “unknown” quantities, and the school "back" of the diploma is of paramount importance in selecting an employe. Boyles College is an “accredited” Commercial School, being a member of the National Association, and also accredited by the Department of Public Instruction, State of Nebraska. This means that we are required at all times to maintain high educational and business standards. Our instructors are required to be highly ef ficient and thoroughly conversant with modern business methods. Enroll now for our summer school classes (day or night) and you will be “safe” in the knowledge that when you receive your diploma—you will be accepted by pros pective employers as a graduate of an “accredited" Commercial School of national repute, and fully pre pared to give complete satisfaction. Send for Large Free llluitrated Catalog 18th and Harney St*., Omaha, Nebraska Tel. JA ckion 1565 Summer Cla»*e* Now Forming—Day or Night Merriam Block Council Bluff*, la Tel. 576 Boyles College