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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 3, 1924)
JO ELLEN _By ALEXANDER BLACK. Copyrl«ht, 1>;4. (Continued From tritmlaj.) What she knew was that she wasn' going to begin any dinner gime, evei if paying for meals or anything elsi wasn't quite easy for her at • thai particular time. And there were nici home folks out west who were hoping hard that she would soon he able t< pay back some of what she'd bor rowed. Well, she got a letter frotr Big Barney inclosing the corner o a thousand dollar hill and telling hei that if she was at all interested lr tha reat of the bill he would be happj to aupply it at a little dinner the following night. A thousand dollars for going to dinner at the St. Reg's.’ An old tale, new to the one whc listened; and the face of the one who listened took on an expression— particularly after that word "temptn tion”—which Mrs. Pinney hsid no gift for reading. "Did she go?” asked .To Ellen. ' “Of course, Bhe went. That's how she came to be Clark Sancher’s girl." The point was, according to Mrs, Pinney, that you never could tell. “I’ve heard stories," said Jo Ellen, "that were just the other way." Mrs. Pinney would have taken the position that stories that were Just the other way weren’t news. A spe cialist in scandal haa responsibilities. Moreover, not only are stories about straightness likely to be rather mushy, but you have to watch your step when you talk about the re spectable. What she said to Jo Ellen was, "The other way. Yes. I know. But I’m telling you what girls are up against. I’m telling you what the girl who fights her way straight in the profession is up against—seeing a millionaire’s sweetie headlined in front of her." Jo Ellen was not Interested in Mrs. Plnney’s money philosophy. She was not fighting her way in the profes sion. It might be selfish not to be worried about the wicked millionaires She didn't want a headline. She wanted . . . What was It she wanted? If same millionaire had said, "I'll buy It for you," what could she have named? Liberty? She could get the make-believe of that by running away. You couldn’t get liberty by turning your back on things. And yet, even If you knew this, you might have to rush out, anywhere, blindly at the last. There was something uncomfortable in Mrs. Plnney's no tion about temptation—about the Anal thing that was too much. It was this that made visions of South America both ugly and beautiful. She was feeling stifled In a home going evening crowd, when she met Arnold Pearson—Arnold, who seemed to occupy a place entirely his own, who was always simply Arnold, with tho frank, friendly eyes that had a way of gathering intentness and com New York --Day by Day - -4 By O. O. McINTYRK. On the Atlantic, Sept. 3.—The in genuity of passengers was shown last night at the coatum* ball. It waa a colorful pageant when oile consid •ra no one came aboard for the event. Costumes were fashioned from odd* and ends. A Scottish Highlander In kilties and bare knees led the grand march with a southern “mammy." There were Impersonations of Rudolph Valentino, A1 Jolson, a Spanish tore sdor, Madam Butterfly, a Chinese mandarin, a mining camp gambler and a rube. The captain of the ship seemed to have a bad run of luck tripping the well known fantastic. Out of six •tarts he was able to dance with only on* partner but be gamely carried on. A few old-fashioned square dances served to get the crowd to gether. In an ungarded moment a lady with a sense of humor lured men Into the swirl of a tango. On a dance floor that hasn’t an ocean roll I would be terrible. But I tried snd for my daring suffered the only hu miliation of the evening. On a certain note we were supposed t« dip and twirl. I think the flute player got his lip caught In the flute for It seemed to me there was a sour not*—followed by two more that com pletely clabbered. Anyway I fell down flat and I might as well blame the flute player. Outside of two ladies on the side lines lorgnetting me I escaped serious damage. From now on I stick to deck walking and leave tangoing to the lounge lizards. After all. the ship cap. tain is a poor dancer too. And he has more Initials after his name than a painless dentist. It waa hsartenlng to see the num her dr grey haired couples In evening clothes enjoying themselves. They remained for “lights out.” I waltzed with one lady from Chicago who Is past TO and we had more fun than the flappers and cake eaters. A sudden squall cam* up shortly after sunup. I had looked forward to a hearty breakfast hut so far as I am concerned at this writing the cooks can bank the fires and declare a holiday. A liner about the third day ha* all th* goeertp of th* amall town. Today they were talking of a newly married ooupl* on board. Among the passeng ere It a woman traveling Incognito whoa* amour* with the groom have blazed forth In many New York gos siping society Journals He passed her twice on deck with his bride today but there wasn’t the slightest glint of recognition. There Is one passenger on the list who has a name that could be used on any French menu for a dessert. It 1* Norbeto Flgello. There Is much high slake auction pool gambling. The Intricatrlea of It are toe much for me. There are small hat pools and then th* bets on the day’s run of the steamer which la announced each noon. If there la a fog th* low field win*. In clesr sailing the average run I* <100 mllea a day. An Englishman haa won about $5,000 #o far. A confiding stewart tells me he !e a member of the "aristocracy." He haa all the ear marks of the ocean greyhound -the term for professional gambler*. A bright young Jewish fur merchant from New York auctions eff the pool nightly. He has a line •f bright and engaging palter and his quips snd qijlrts are worthy of a •pot In vaudeville. A whsose from the Ocean Times ••How far I* It to th* station?" [ Twenty mllsa’ walk If you can." (Copyright, 1124.) I ing to the burning point. At this moment he appeared to be particular ly buoyant. He had not before seen her alone, even in a crowd. Perhaps it was this fact that made him ap 1 pear subdued after the meeting, as ■ if he were not quite sure what he i ought to do with the changed privi lege. Jo Ellen was not less affected by the difference of situation. He was always simply Arnold, and not a problem, but to se him set apart from all that belonged to other meet ings, gave him a surprising empha sis; and to be detached with him in this way seemed to imply something for which she was not prepared. She felt free to say anything to him. It occurred to her that he was the sort anybody would trust. Yet the quality that made her feel free, his utterly natural loyalty, told her all that she might not say. Such an allegiance could not be divided. He was Marty's buddy. He and Jo Ellen were, both of them, sticking. ... He would stick to the end of time. You could see that. No South America could beck on to him. . . . She reddened at this thought. He would be taking it for granted that she would stick—against all odds. He might not know what the odds were—not altogether. It would depend upon what Marty told him about the roof, and upon what he guessed. Maybe his wishing loolt had in it the hope that Ehe would stick. There was an enormous sor riness there, too. Of this she could be sure. He was going downtown as far as Eighth street. They rode on the ele vated together. He found a seat for her. and bent over to say the things that might be said so publicly. When it came his time to leave her, he bent closer. “How’s friend husband?” "About the same, thank you.” It sounded silly as she recalled it. He gripped her hand. “W'e must stand by him." This seemed to leap out as If it had been held back too long, and when it was said he evidently felt it needed explaining. But there wasn't time. The guard was bawling, “Let ’em off—step lively!” And he was gone. Very likely he had no deep mean ing. It was his impulse to express the effect of supporting her in a trial. But it had the admonitory sound also. He was another adviser. She could not thrust away the image of him as one more to whom she must give an accounting. She imagined Arnold Pearson as hearing that she had run away—how those eyes of his would wince. And Mrs. Pinney would say . . . O yes! Her philosophy about temptations would be slckingly confirmed. It would be almost as horrible to sup port Mrs. Pinney as to disappoint Arnold Pearson. ... To disappoint. To have the people who held you to an accounting watching for Rigns. It was a frightful thing to feel fenced in by expectations. You couldn’t live that way. You could crawl about. You could be going again to the roof. But you couldn't live. You couldn't even die decently. Boys died hide ously in wars because they had to give an accounting. Women . . . they were supposed to know how to be whitened slowly. She looked over the huddle of faces in the ear. There was a woman standing whom she hadn't noticed— the sort of woman nobody notices. Jo Ellen got up to make a place for her. Not an old woman, but beaten looking. Perhaps she had been through many horrors, many sorts of suffering. You could read miser ies in hfr face. You could ask your self whether what you had to endure really counted against all that, wheth er you weren’t lucky . . . And you could stand over her and say, No! al most aloud, that you wouldn't let yourself become like that; that you wouldn't let life slowly crush you into that shape. If you had children and sickness and poverty, and there had been no help for it—well, then you would have to become like that, it might bs, and make your account ing as bravely as you could to the God who must know what he is about. But if you came to be that l way because of some horrible theory of enduring, because there were a I certain number of people expecting you to stick something out, because ome Mrs. Simms had finished her ,1ob with you, you would feel, when it was too late, that life had been stolen from you, the life that be longed to you, the life you thought of when you lay in the grass looking ip through the trees, or that showed i hrough some home window when you were outside and the lights were | hinlng. , . . She remembered a woman holding lit a gaping handbag and screaming j bat her life savings had been stolen. .Maybe the old sometimes felt like ! hat about their dreams. Robbed. You had to have dreams. Anyway, they came. You held them. They v.ere yours: dreams of splendidly real things, full of different and astonish ing action, enormously open—not on tracks, and without walls, or cross ing coppsrs, or hot. Jerky cars that held you like poultry packed for mar ket. And there would be love, love that took your hand and ran, ran Into the wild glory of some unspoiled place, honestly, beautifully, fearfully green and golden, with vistas that gave your eyes room, and that had tha smell of liberty. Nevertheless, she waa glad that Eberly drove her hard. She was glad of anything that kept her from think ing. Yet she could think, evidently. In spaces as thin as a minute, Or even while .she was typing and rush lng about. She was glad that Eberly sent her here or there on foolish am bassadorships. He had other people, plenty of them, but his commissions were of many shades, and it was to be supposed that he had, occasional ly, sane reasons for delegating her. Often she detected these reasons In questions he asked afterward. But it did not matter about his motives. He could do as he wanted to. His whims, if they wTere whims, brought everything to the sharp point. No one else could bring everything to the sharp point. It was back stage at one of the theater*, late In the afternoon of a musical show matinee, that *h* heard a voice cry out through th# *cuflTle, "Jo Ellen!” The paint mad* It hard to Iden tify Myrtle Fleck, and Myrtle gig gled In enjoyment of th# Interval In which Jo Ellen stared. ^__ "Bom* aurprl**, *ht“ Iftrtl* shrugged excitedly. Her abovidara wer* bare. A great deal of hor wai bar*. An lmmenie green plum* arose from a headband of aparkler*. The - effect wu duplicated In a group of other glrla that waa awaiting a rig nal. (To Be ConUnned Tomorrow.) THE NEBBS JUST A GOOD CAR, THAT’S ALL. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hew ! . r /good MOteuiNG.MR.VOE&S • /YOU WROTE. ME. TO ARRANGE. TOR AN AOTO DURVNG YOUR * 1 visit were:- vr wasn’t* I V necessary because, you &• V can use MINC *■ JL 3 f \T15 A SRAWD WLw PA\WT U0& — t / PAtWTLO \T NTYSLLT AuD YUL LwGlWE ROWS AS QUILT AUO SMOOT* AS A VAJATCH - \TS AU AMSmOUS UTTLr OLVll'-! VOU WANT *TO UAWG CM WUCW NOO GwL ULR.1WL GAS \ - SUL ALWAYS,STARTS VajiTH ' \ ACouPlL or Uur\PS /SHE RomS SMOOTHUW _ CLOSE WCXjR / EWES AMD VOU'D THImK^OO WERC IN A\R-SHiP - AND PAST ! I CAME Cv. 1 \ FROM MlLL\MGTOM OVER EIGHT MILLS N. IM LESS “fHAM AM WOUR (ky— DOWT E0R6ET ToX ’ UP ww£kj NOO RE KJOr X IT THERE'S LOCK. Oki THE \ J<S WHEEL CWD & CwCHki J OCVC roR THE wheels ] ERES BEEtO ThiEvwG / sow oki th\$ TowK^y L I =Z? | (Copyright. 1M4. by Tin Bell Syndirafc, trip Barney Google and Spark Plug ' A TRIM MAY HELP TROTSKI’S SPEED. 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Patent of«« pace of colors in the Sunday bee (Coprrieht mti YOU HAKE HE T.VCK ALL YOU DO HE VO TWVHK YOU'D BE WRAIO TO HE - HO ONE CAM EXPECT AMY HAPWNf«ft IM THI^> WORLD DY L,C^- r-or_ HAC^tC | WOULO HOT ^>AY AHY thim<« to oecE'VE mij TOU no matter what too sat-TOO COULDN’T DECEIVE ME- 1 DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW TOU Cam tell, a lie i d NEVER THINK OP CON’ SUCH A TH\nc,! f wflT tviveL „ WAvHT*D TO *iPCA< WVAM- l*b TO TOU OH THE L_^ Tei_COHOts»E - * ^ 1 7 ^ ^^ * — —— -— i m i | *■ i - ' _r j—3 ——■---' „ „ —— f l- . ■ —... . 1.2 - M^irr ^i r~ B"T1 JERRY ON THE JOB A POSSIBLE SOLUTION * Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban f messuw • ?A>u ml* ; I 'TEC.aStE -AMO ^.SEoln ' V Swouwa 5re» _ u--i | 1 ~TUE BlEED- »V ->v (*" V>KU,*'MS <3<STTA HmZ OUT A ^E>V5T. 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