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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 15, 1924)
JO El I By ALEXANl (Continued From Yesterday.) "If yon want me to atay here,” ahe said jerkily, “you'll have to think a Ittle about your talk.” ■ That's a threat. A threat'.” Then he threw his arms about her. "O Jo Ellen!” XIII. .To Ellen let It be known that she h:ul chosen a Sunday to visit In wood, j- should have been a simple matter i , communirnte tills Intention. Noth ing could be more reasonable than :i visit to her mother. Yet it seemed to cost a good deal to get the thing . lit. Marty's lips suddenly became looser. Mrs. Simms was mute, hut her thought seemed to stare like words i ic, iked upon a dark wall. For the 1,1 ly day in the week when Jo Ellen could have her husband or be of any use around the house, she was choos ing to be off to her own people— Haunting her privilege of shedding things, strutting freely where others were tied to a chair or to a kitchen tange. . When Sunday morning rnme Simms senior, his stockingless feet covered by canvas slippers, smoking pro foundly In the midst of a Sunday edl ( tion, paused to say, "Good idea. Give them my respects. "Wish you’d ask Bogert why he never comes down.” But no single sop of sympathy could muffle the clank of the chain. Her going was made to seem, at the last, like an affront. A sense of ■what lay behind her dragged through the miles and stained the brightness of the day. Yet it was necessary to pretend. There were searching eyes at Inwood. Being pitied would be a finisher. tncle Ben loomed on the top step in a posture that suggested await ing an event. He was in the front row of everything that happened, cumbrously cheerful, ready to blow encouragingly upon every flame of fun, roaring over his own Jokes, fear ful of pauses. There must be noth ing disagreeable; this was fixed in his mind. His pleasantry about the prodi gal daughter and the fatted chicken expressed his theory of an occasion. He even wished that the old baseball team might get out in the afternoon. t-1-- ' New York --Day by Day _I— --) b.v o. o. McIntyre. New York, Aug. 15.—Thoughts while strolling around New York: Noon. And here I am Just up. Once an Egyptian always a late sleepers. I love to be lazy. Too many frostbit ten souls living by time clocks. Hot dog! A parade. Wish Sousa would Write another march. Ex-Ambassador Berard. An elfish chip of a girl between two stout men in checkr. and derbies, the famous gambler who wears a silk liatch over his eye. Herb Roth, the . aricatufist. A button and a waggish look. Street hawkers doing their stuff along the library wall. A bluecoat and they vanish. H An Oriental rug sale. Keshons, Sarooks, Inspahans and Arakshahs. At least that’s what the sign says. Means nothing to me. Rag carpets are my speed. More padlocked cafes. No bootlegger is a hero to his waiter. Hilda Gray's mauve limousine In a show window. Wonder if I’ve got enought money for a hair cut. A liegger hurls his crutch at a policeman. And runs like a rabbit. As I live and breath! A <lr(Sg store selling drugs. Old blue veined clubmen tottering to their bridge. What's the name of Eddie Foy’s fifth child? An organ grinder and his monk. Didn't know there were any left. Hope there’s bean soup for dinner. Wish Tiffany's would put up a sign. It scents downright snobby without It Kindly gatherers from east side. And they have more fun than the Kollos rolling hoops. Two Frenchmen with spade shap ed beards. And quizzical little eyes. Trousered to grotesqueness and boot ed to misery. Why would anyone leave Cafe de la Paix for this sim mering city. Charlie Tomne, the poet. And a famous bachelor. Overcrowded buse«. An obsequious waiter in the Waldorf making out a bill. And a tired looking man waiting for the bad news. A <at on an iron picket fence. I tried It once. And lost the northeastern section of my Sunday pants. And grandma licked me to boot. In a promenade of 10 streets a reporter found 62 new res taurants. Restaurants in New York fail in greater proportion than any sort of business. Every waiter, after he saves a few dollars, opens a restaurant and 90 per cent of them fail. Speaking of restaurants I noticed George Rector among the avenue throngs the other afternoon. Jt'reealls the old days when Broadway was a hell-roaring street Rector, dapper and debonair could be seen each evening at 6 standing resplendent in his dinner jacket in the entrance to old Rector s. He had a way of separating the chaff from the wheat wlhtout offending. He knew his New York as few knew It. Nowadays the head waiter knows few of his patrons. He flits from place to place. The musical saw craze threatens the same horror as the ukulels craze. The old-fashioned saw Is played with a fiddle how and the various tones are produced by bending the blade of the saw at diffe.rent angles. A small shop has opened on Meat 37th street where only musical saws are sold. Two Instructors are there and promise to teach the novice In 10 lessons at $5 a lesson. The saw craze was brought to New York by an Arkansas lumberman who Is suld lo have discovered the music that could lie brought from tfie tool, He ap peared several years ago In a mid night musical revue. They dragged out to one of those Interpretive dances again. This one was where the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics came to life In the dance of the solar gods. I didn't catch any of It not even on the second bounce but 1 was entranced by a fellow In front of me who went to Sleep. His toupe slipped as In- slump ed In his seat and for half an hour It threatened to fall to the floor. Hut 1 didn’t get to see exactly what hap , pened for I nodded too and he fixed It before I ram# hack to conscious fees*. (Coji) right* IV* * 4 .LEN . ] )ER BLAQK. c«p,n,ht. uu. -—_y A zippy game bj the Inwood Giants would sort of tone things up. Mrs. Rewer repressed a desire to know how Marty’s mother was be having. She sought to read an an •wer In the looks of Jo Ellen. Hav ing read a make-believe, It was htrrd to retaliate without something spoken to go on. The make-believe might mean either Marty or his mother. It might mean both. It might mean hunger for a real home. Whatever k. meant, ehe found the blight a bft ter thing to see. The grandmother refused all con spiracies. "What's the use of bluffing?” was ner challenge. "Why don’t you swear, Ellen, and have it out? A good damn or two." This stirred a laugh in Jo Ellen. “I don’t mean," said Mrs. Bogert, with her energetic finger gesture In the gray hair, "that you ought to whine. Of course not. ' But you’ve been up ngainst It hard. If you haven't smashed anything or anybody it'll mean you have a good deal on your chest. Hell them and be done with it.'* "It's just a Job," Jo Ellen remarked from the porch chair. “And I didn't bring it with me." "Good work!" Bogert strained the pockets of his trousers. “She's a sport. Wants a change." Mrs. Bogert was not diverted. "Wants a change to blow off. That's what she needs. I know when peo ple are natural. This business of be ing sweet in adversity puts a crimp in you. Patience, yes. But we got to keep things said up. You can say it here, and get a little help." “All right," said Jo Ellen. "When 1 must explode I'll try to do it here." Mrs. Rewer was halted. "Sometimes she's a Bogert and sometimes n new er. Maybe generally a. Bogert try ing to be a Rewer, and that's some strain.” “Oh, I'm not trying to be meek," expostulated Jo Ellen, "if you mean something like that. I tell you, it’s my Job. There’s no way out. What's the good of peeving? And that isn’t it, either. If I begin discussing, there'll be real trouble. I can seem to stand things if I shut up.” "You talk like an old woman," said Mrs. Bogert, "and I want you to be an honesi-to-God girl." "I know!" cried Bogert, ‘‘you want her to be red headed, and she—'" Mrs. Bogert grunted sharply. "I don't want her to get her wires crossed. This Simms crowd has a strangle hold on her—" Jo Ellen laughed again. Her moth er winced at the sound. "You're a dear old bunrh. You wanted me to have something nice and soft and happy. And I didn't strike it. There was a war, and I hated it and didn't do much. This is mv share." "Damn it!” Bogert hurst forth, for getting his good resolutions, “Mrs. Simms doesn't belong to your share. I'll say that." Mrs. Rewer lifted her hands dep recatlnglv. "Well," said Jo Ellen, "she's a kind of a beast. But she belongs. That can’t he changed." "You can be changed," Mrs. Bo gert declared. "You can be squeezed until there's only a rag of you left. Holding in and thinking about your duty. A fine old-fashiorwd idea that's killed a lot of women, bled them white, then finished them off. Of course, you might be blubbering, and we might be stroking you and plead ing with you to be noble. That's one way to wither women. It Just happens that I know other symp toms. I’m not telling you to shirk anything. I'm telling you to kick at kicking time, no matter whose shins get hurt. You’ll last longer." Jo Ellen stood up with a menacing suddenness. "This is funny. You'd think they heat me every morning before break fast.” Mrs. Rewer had been watching. "It might be a good idea," she said, "to let Jo Ellon alone, or we’ll make her glad to get hack to her Jail.” Ben Bogert slapped his knee, and his mother, of a audden, was out of her ohanr and had Jo Ellen in a firm grip. Bogert gulped when he saw that the three women were crying1. "Say! ..." He left his ejaculation In the air. The spectacle was too much for him. He stared in a tor tured awa at the tears of all the peo pie In the world who mattered most. It was as if Woman wept. Then he saw Jo Ellen break loose and begin the descent of his long flight of steps. This amazing turn completed his dismay. He made a leaping motion, then checked himself when he became aware that Emms Traub was standing at the foot of the lower flight. Well, this was as good a way as any to break up he game. Kmma Traub would answer the purpose very well, If breaking up the game wan what Jo Ellen had In mind. XIV. "Thought I saw you," said Kmma. How to Start the Day Wrong By Briggs | ABIE THE AGENT /INI) .SO The D*Y tS UTTERLY Ruined Don't tahb hiny Tou \ seriously may'- - i tell | You M* HAS OOMtTHiNI. ) On. HIS MNB--II* AIN'T / Business Troubles. j V\OU>'S TRlf^S 1 Wr VoUR OFFICE, V AflE? 43 r -- NO'. I QOT$lCKANb TIRO) START!NQSON^S FOR NVENERTto sJOIN I»0 ON'NEVER ONCE t>tF HE START ONE’.* Jo Ellen knew that the truth went further. Emma's passing was not likely to have been a matter of ehance. She always knew about things. Old Eot Mallln represented gossip. Einma represented secrets. To Jo Ellen the mystery of her seemed to survive all Intervals and to have its old creepy fascination. She inevitably suggested whispers. "How’s your father?” Jo Ellen asked, with a feeling of forcing her self Into another scene. "Slipping. J give him about sis months now. After that I'll sell the house. You’ve had trouble yourself," "Yes.” * "You've had a raw deal for a honey moon,” "If you don't mind, we won't talk about It.” "I wee. It’s as bad as that.” "L didn't come up here to—” Onf had to be plain with Emma. "Yes, but It's no sin to be sorry; You're just like you used to be— quick. And that's what make* It worse ... a Kill like you, and then, bln g o. no husband.” “I have a husband,” retorted Jo Ellen. Emma eyed her with a curious. boring look. There was always some thing passionate in her curiosities. "A husband." Emma repeuteii the words as if she were measuring them against what she saw. In any other imaginable person the transparent process would have been profoundly insulting. Jo Ellen endured the or deal localise she had a curiosity of her own. Probably this curiosity was T „ behind the Impulse that had carried j her down the steps. She wanted the Emma Traub version of Myrtle Fleck. •'X knew a case like yours.” eald Emma, Intently. "The girl ...” (To B« Continued Tomorrow ) — _ a •% • e-w ■ ■ ■ THE NEBBS BASHFUL RUDY! Directed tor I he umana oee Dy ooi new - ---1— -—-7 — " “ 1 /see THAT , BROTHER ? S ( _ WELL I'M “THE. PRES\0EV4T / \Or “THAT COMPAKW ! _ \ (t*£l MET °V0uK ; Att-ir i getting \ r5»i'GC?HG)SoME AHo] »a kww y ( I'LL .2^^ TWAT AOUERT\S\nG \ GUV AlNT f-AlSSED A &POT TO \ GTlEK NONAGE - IT \aj(5nt &E LONG NOW WiwEN I‘n\ ROLLING AROUnO in A GwLLI AUTO AND PEOPLE WILL 2>L J POINTING ME OUT AG THE/ MILLIONAIRE WATER .— K'nG .1/-SEC Twkt Sign, s. _ I'm \i /W/I^ PRESIDENT ot-tvam- I 4 ^t/T^U/^o 1 COMP^NIN - I'M I GOING -SPEND A UP\Lr MlLUOKJ f '4r^vXG iDOLLfvaSAONEft /) T\S\NG nuprrwMLR/ 'Sm-t4 /§| I ^\ f-twATT LOVELY ’V) / /-= MaIELL WCVE.A ( TOU'DIitTTtKistL ihm r^T Turnin' \ *t rolls in in time -to Y §Sr*T/v,Shm meet a lot or Bills THAT i TblNN COVERED AR.E GOiNG “TO ROLL IN i VmiTvA NOVAGE 5oon» - AND l DON'T ADS - BUSINESS WAsiT -TO START OJMV 1 IS GETTING P»lG VACATION VAitTM A POCKET tesriiLL $ ^Et° KONCN WILL 1 ROLL HnE. / start rolling/ dollar bills let / in Soon / L^mem f eV ini yy ' ( ^'s Barney Google and Spark Plug BARNEY CAN’T BELIEVE HIS EARS. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBe^k (Copyright 1924) rMlVTAH 600616. (UfM FW L6UI5(ama *AH REPUHS&NTS Twt CWAMIJAW OF COMMuHSE ■ ii COUIO VO AH Purl OFF THAT RACE OF SPAR<1 P Wu6 and VgAT RUSS/AW worse down our* FI WAV 4 1*16 D MAKE AW (NOOCtMtMT. SUM. 1 V (U)0- XhM WHAT VO All WILL tier FROM MIUFAUK6E .SUM • Copyright. 1924. by King r?*t\irr» Syndic*!? Inc (>r?»! Hril»m right* r?»?iv?d „ / NATCHITOCHES!.' ^ f| NATCHITOCHES!!!J >03 * * ' * r/ »» 1 V. *»fU 1 .4 ■ ». ** v.! —'ii"I i'It M 'Ml BRINGING UP FATHER Registered SEE JIGCS AND MAGCIE IN FULL V. S. Patent Office PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus (Copyright 1924) _> r.-r—---T-1 HET- JlCCb - COME HERE -OOCAsM lb COMMA, TELL Ob ^ FUMMT bTOR\ <^0 AHEAD - W WEUL ONCE \ THERE WUZ. A ] m TRAVellN' MAvU | AN O- - • * b C 1924 ■ » I NT L ScRVlCf. Inc W OOCUT.1 i WANTED ! TO REMEMBER THAT J £>TORt am1 TELL IT TO TOO fOl-K'b BUT I'VE FORCOTTEN JgMT ALREADT C23r~^ /BjjrwMi'b Great Britain re*erved S*/«S JERRY ON THE JOB A WIDE-AWAKE EMPLOYE. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban (Copyright 29241 _ —— --—n _ OC09 ) / 7J(TM0UT ) Mouet, Oows / v:NOC»c'»4&i 7 aw Come- / v. , ^ j l \v> wtree S S_ 7^/ W ., &■* 'Inky,./ >/ Vx^' a $jp£ - Ig;J 5^4-ts 1 » <. _ Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield