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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (July 31, 1924)
-—- -■ ! JO ELLEN By ALEXANDER BLACK. ^ Il!4. V— ■ —■» ■■ ■— <0*attin*4 rm InMir) "But It didn't begin here—It began there.” said hie father. "The hlatory of It makes a. difference. Thla seemed to Irritate Marty. ' The history of It's In my bark,” he said. "Something or other was nearly broken. This has made it worse—or finished it,” he added des perately. Nonsense,” returned the father. "Finished? Ton're young. They’ll shake you together again. Maybe an osteopath . . There was s distressing quantity of futile speculation, and whatever anybody thought or said always end ed In a. look from Marty to Jo Kllen Jo Kllen believed that her mother in-law looked at her in a kind of fury, as if to say: If Matty hadn't married a redheaded girl who lived in In wood, and hadn't ridden in a car to Nineteenth street, and hadn't leaped upstairs with a suitcase, and hadn’t stumbled on the top steps, all would have been well with him. It might he that nothing of this sort was in her mind. But her look certainly said, at the very least, that he had been right, enough until he did get married. Jo Ellen's mother was the quietest it the group. She spent most of her time in obscure ministrations she went over the supplies in the kitchen and noted how the pantry shelves re peated the technic of her own. There was a time when she thought Jo Kllen would never make a housekeeper. Afterward it appeared that Jo Klien wasn't incapable of housekeeping. She only disliked It, which was a different matter. If things came to the W'orst she would have to be both nurse and housekeeper for a. little while—until something could be done. It would he a dreadful plunge. By way of a honeymoon It would be gro tesque. A honeymoon. Mrs. Hew er's face grewr hot In a humiliated indignation. Perhaps in her way she was as indignant as Mrs. Simir.s, hut there was i»o real parallel. She was not indignant at Marty. Her resent ment was against circumstances. She had but one daughter. It was a pitv that that daughter couldn’t have had the anticipated happy interval, what ever might coine to her later on. Aasuming that a honeymoon was de lusive, it was a delusion the two ad venturers were entitled to. If a dream Interval weren’t part of the bargain, who would want to make the bargain at all? Of course, there were horrible honeymoons, even when no one tumbled. Every woman heard about them. The whole business of marriage was a gamble, naturally. But there were times when you could see a little way along the road with perfect certainty, or thought you could. Without special disaster Marty and Jo Ellen w’ould have made .— —— N a good start. They were friends to begin with, and jou rouldn't begin with anything better than friendship. Jo Ellen was the sort that played the game. She would play the game now. whatever it was to be. What waa it to be? It might be a trial to the mother of ihe bride. . . . Granmother Bogert came in the afternoon. "I knew you were going to have enough of them In Ihe morning,” she said. "Thought I'd look in afler you had figured out the worst. Perhaps I never told you that both your grand lather and J were battered up in a l uggy ride on our wedding trip. You know, nobody's supposed to have any real sense on a honeymoon, and oper ating without pense aort of atacks the cards against you anyway. How's the bridegroom feeling?” Bravado for Grandmother Bogert. And ahe may have been misled by the bravado of Jo Ellen. When she had talked with Marty ahe was a bit quieted. She, too, made more than one appraisement of Jo Ellen. But she was not to be permanently sub dued. "Well, boy,” she said to Marty, "I’m not fool enough to tell you to remember that you have been a sol dier and that this is your cross. None of that rot from mamma. If X had been in your boots and this had hap pened to me, I wouldn’t thank any body to yap around me on the sub ject o< war. I'd heave something at anybody who sniveled on that key. Better forget thst and get down to this." "Sure thing.” said Marty. "Better consider what's left and begin there.” "There’s a good deal left.” added Marty cheerfully, tie always felt the infection of Mrs. Bogert. "They didn't smash your head and heart. And you’ve two good hands. I’m just taking it at the worst. We don't know they won't put you on your feet. I.ord, X’vs seen a fellow play football who, when he was a lad. had been consigned to a wheel chair for keeps.” "Father’s going to send me a wheel chair," said Marty. "He's rather quick about it. How does lie know you're going to need a wheel chair?" "Even If I do pull out I may need It for a while.” The effect of this may not have caught Marty, but Jo Ellen saw her grandmother wince. "Don’t you get teady to be a—” she almost said "cripple,”—"an invalid. Nothing like that. You look to me the size of a man. Keep your cour age. Sounds preachy, hut an old woman can say what she likes.” Jo Ellen thought that her grand mother found the job of being buoy ant and inspirational a little harder than she had expected. Marty was not In pain. He was neither gloomy nor confident. There was no evident occasion for rebuke, and It seemed difficult to reach the right sort of commiseration. You couldn't soothe a person who looked as well as Marty did. Mrs. Bogert was persuaded to stay for supper. "It seems foolish,” she eald. "You can't be prepared for visitors.” "But I am,” aakl Jo Ellen. “Uncle Ben must have bought out the deli catessen store. He came back with both arms loaded Speaking of load ed arms, you ought to have seen him tarrying Marty.” "Ben * a horse.” said his mother. "I wouldn't say he'd be much of a buyer. He isn't safe in a delicates s<n. Wanla to buy anything that's a bright red.” The supper went off very well in the matter of talk. Mrs. Bogert ale little, and ahe noticed that Jo Ellen's liveliness was not accompanied by anything at all eager in the way of appetite Marty was served from a tray. He was particularly enthu siastic about tha bologna and potato salad. "After til# doctor* have had a chancs at me tomorrow,” said Marty, "I'm not going to aiay shelved like this." "Of course not,” said Mrs. Bogerl. At the door and beyond, when Jo Ellen and her grandmother said good night, there was a muta pause that was very hard for both. With sn arm around the strong, young shoulders. Mrs. Bogerl mut tered, "I can’t say it, Ellen, tut you know, don't you?” "Yes, I know.”. . . Marty could hear tha clink of the dishes In the kitchen—all the little Hounds that meant Jo Ellen's house wifely benediction upon one dey end the preparation for Ihe next. Com pany had put sn extraordinary tax on the elementary appointment# of the new home. There were many unexpected derangements. "I'll bet you’re tired," s.iid Marty when Jo Ellen came In sight. "Not a bit.” auid Jo Ellen. "You haven't kisaed me one# to day.” He reached up a* the bent over him. _ New York • •Day by Day >I— - By O. O. M'INTYRK. New York, July 31.—The old end broken-down actor la Broadway’s most tragic figure. His home is the skylit room in the theatrical board ing house. Hath morning he stops at the mail box in the hall to look for the letter from a producer that never come*. Then off to some hole In the wall for coffee and roll*. In the outer rooms of the theatrical agencies he sits for hours—watching the barred door, waiting and hoping. His (lollies have been brushed thread bare and his runover shoes are spot less. lie has a shabby gentility that only the actor seems to achieve. At night he basks in the electrical glory of the world that once was his. New York holds him in its clutch. The only way he will ever leave It is to go trouping. He accepts no man's charity. Ask him to dine and he'll say he has Just dined—even though he may have a box of crackers under his arm to take to his room. Not even defeat will quench his ego. He Is always the best in the business. His optimism In face of the hope less future be knows Is his la touching. There are at least 500 of these rare old types living on the fringe of the Rialto. One producer tells of one of them who has been to his office every week day for more than two years. In most cases these actors clutched at stardom and missed. They rarely rose abovo some inconspicu ous part—a butler or the like. Yet they are seldom touched by jeajouay. They have seen men and women all around them reach stellar roles. They glory in the success that never touched them. There la one old fellow who drops in now and then to chat w-lth me. Invariably when he depart* he is on Ids way to his tailor, although he has worn the same suit for several years. The silk hat slumped In popuarlty during the war. and while It >s still being worn, there has not been a com plete come back. There Is one spot In New York, howevtsr, where the silk list never dies. That is Tammany hall. No Tammany {unction was ever complete without silk hats. They ere worn at ell funerals and receptions in which Tammany take* part. The last time I wore a alik hat was at a wedding. I did all my stuff before the mirror In advance arid finally got. It at what I thought was a Jaunty Regent street angle hut mis placed it getting Into a taxicab. I don't believe anything can make one feel eo seif conscious os dropping a silk hat on the sidewalk. Three in nocent bystander* readied for mine and at least six laughed. I enjoyed a brief nap In my chslr after writing the above paragraph. Upon reading It one can easily under hand how sleep was Induced. Hut be that os it may I had a dream of losing*my hat out of a skyscraper window and in rushing for It X top pled downward. X came bn-k to consciousnesa on the floor. Another time I went to sleep at t tie copy desk nf « newspaper. Tire managing editor strolled by snd sew me. When I awakened l received this curt note from him: "An editorial desk Is the one spot In tile world where a man should stay awake. If you feel you are not equal to tins I shall b* pleased to swept your resig nation." Th« same managing editor quit Journalism to study meilclits snd after graduation was sent 'n Africa to study sleeping sickness, fie has been eminently succ*#efu| and I have always fell I was Hi* tnspii.itloii for hi* career. ( "Pyrlgtit, 1924. S Movie of a Man With a Midnight Hunger. By Briggs Finish*: ; nfw«pap((i i Akin • eci i hun6«v TMTC tDi? Ht vr not io n MJOLfle Arp^TTirr m.ny " S i i I ^ThIMK&’oF coi.o ChtCKen CARCAtJ »M ■ ICC BOX TmiMK*". Of POT or | COI.D BfAMS W-J ICC POX Thinks or c'oi T> , APPt.6 Pie ira ice --(SUPPlrJfc ) RA,<r>S ICr Box I "No sleeping: on sofas tonight!'’ "No.” She could hear him swallow and became aware of a new piteous look in his eyes. “Well,'' he said presently, “it's been a livelier da> than we expected, hasn’t it?” _ "Rather." "They were all mighty kind. But I'm glad . . . I'm glad we re just by ourselves again." "Yes.” "We’ll debt It out together." "Together.” "You'll try not to feel that I've spoiled everything?" Tou mustn't worry shout *hat." “Like on the high place . . . To gether. Then Marty added, "I'll he rlad to have that wheel chair.” IX. i 'Hie e nminer of t h* n hp^l chair °eemed to mark the place where eer tain hopes come to an end. .To Ellen might have chosen to (lx the point more precisely as at the moment when she saw Dr Parker's face after that half hour beside Marty. In company with the consulting spe clalisl Nothing was to judged from the sleek, hard specialist. But Dr. Parker s face was more baromet ric. Jo Ellen knew this fate 'cry well. She thought of it as full ot kind lines Maybe all the Hines meant Simply experience, hut Ihev were I wired up to the heart of the man What Dr. Parker andlhly aMd was that Martv m.»ht Just as fell be up •'t'd about so far ns he was able to navigate, and that he mustn't be de pressed. or anything like that. Jo Ellen was not on unv seemin' to he come ambitious In the matter of lifting. (1 • It* Con tinned Tnmnrrow.' THE NEBBS WHO’S LYING NOW? Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol He»» UUS^Sd^NTO TWISGWATER ^^ SUOEO, WE WAS a\ yjas{S» _7 urA NEGvFTT^ir DRAWING account or tHOO-C ^ ( BUSINESS— WE* NEGLECTING THAN TvniCE THAT _ ANO TO TW\NV< THAT THAT L\TTLE WVPO' CCVTE 6W0ULD OECEWE *USW J aS'ajeet ano trustvng y / 1 i NOW l CAUGHT you* ^ /LET ME IN\OU MtSCWEFN I WwAT ARE VOU DOING \ MAKER ! HOW MISERABLE \ va/iTH VOuft tMONiCV-. \ ...WOOD BE IE EvERtBOO-* in I GAMBLING 7 NbuBRiN6 w2?l2'^^?py! HOME *50 SATuRDfW . / fe, °Pt'N THAT DOOR ^ WHILE NOURE SQUANDERING A S |( c^rSs^ON^MA?/ \ouR moncv On Goodness) i] I^noGueoTZs ICnOvajS VJHAT • ^—'^N) Ml -~ Barney Google and Spark Plug Barney Ought to Have Brought Along a Safe. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck I *. • . RRINHINH IIP FATHFR ,, SEE JIGCS AND MAGG,E in full Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus DlxUlVJlilvl Ur r rt 1 1 ILilX U. S. Patent Olflca PACE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE (Copyright 1924) * 'TOO are >= OO'aTinTlME TO [ PA-t FOR THlt> AMD I TA^e ME HOME i r O 1»?4 tT Int L F«»tu*4 Scnvicc Inc ^.Crtat Britain right* rr*er\rd JERRY ON THE JOB MIGHT HAVE BEEN WORSE Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban (Copyright 1*24) ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Herthfield Efficient-) at All Time*. • ' * m t" iixrt?-- ■ * u.HKT $ 1 viust wevrEKEY'ro^ B M*YTET5, TVAlk'k «Teu ME , '•' ' x>\t> MOR^E fN&kiK* " <«0 To The ikVL Q*ME WTM t>R- Rt>t€KEFi.t> ? TElL ME TME MYailV I --os A> WOO 1 NE. 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