Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 16, 1924)
I, THE KJNG By WAYLAND WELLS WILLIAMS. (Copyright, 1»S4.) (Continued from Teeter-day.) At home he found out; It wee a Blatter of days, pci ps hours. His father lay with closed eyes, under opiates most of the time; death was a thing to we welcomed, not feared. During one of his father's conscious periods Kit was taken Into the room. Mr. Newell held his hand and smiled faintlv. "Goodby, dear boy,” he said. “You’ll be all right, I think.” And that was the last Kit saw of him alive. His mother was calm and beautiful in her black. Kit wondered where all those black clothes suddenly ap peared from, but he did not like to ask. Ke did not have to ask ques tions; he merely did what he was told. Everything was very smooth, very quiet, very solemn, and when he went hack to school, on the third day after the funeral, he went without tears. VIII. Tear* of calm and happy growth ensued. Warned by his experience In the literary cluh—warned rather by his own subsequent uneasiness than any harm coming from without—he made no more revolutionary advances. Things like that were better thought than said. At bpme things went much as be fore. After the first year ot her mourning Mrs. Newell began to go shout more than she had for years. She was glad to entertain for Kit during vacations; she gave dinners, dances, theater parties. She went to the theater with him, almost indiscrimi nate in her middle age and her son's developing manhood. She sat with him through Alla Nasdmova In "The Comet." inwardly laughing, wonder ing If he understood, hoping that he didn't, that he did. Kit on his side was indifferent to quality; what he wanted was quantity. Ho bowed to the schoolboy's necessity of having an imposing list of plays seen during vacation. Habitually, after being out late. Kit would awake in the morning and lie thinking, physically lazy and men tally alert. The room was hlB old nursery, with all the furniture changed. Nana was gone. Pollux was gone, the very wallpaper was gone; hut he was still the same Kit. Was he, though? Couldn’t one be as dif ferent from oneself as from other people? Some one had said some thing of the sort. Who am I? Dazy little voices In him kept wondering, and In this ma tutinal peace he let them wonder on. What am ? What am I here for? What will I be fifty years hence? A hundred? ... . . * . , A certain amount of that made him ■e-- \ New York --Day by Day V__ .. t By o. o. McIntyre. New York, Oct. 15.—Every now end then I go to the biggest safety deposit vault In New York to clip a lonesome little bond. It rests like a drop of dew In the Atlantlo. All about are rows upon rows of vaults big and small—some with combination locks. There Is a branch of romance In this huge depository. Next door to my coupon clipping room there was the monotonus clip of the scissors. Two secretarial looking men wero ■snipping away at a huge pile of bonds. One clip and my work was done—but I clipped up an old en velope to appear Important. An attendant pointed out one old and shrunken, man who comes there every afternoon at a certain hour. He vails for his box and sits there thumbing over a huge fortune in stocks and bonds. He varies the ted ium by figuring on a pad. lie Is one of the metropolitan mls / ers who receives the same thrill of the fiction misers In the lonely hut counting his gold. Hundreds of men I am told go to their safety deposit vaults daily. It Is their way of re laxing. This depository Is far down under ground. Every precaution has been taken that there shall he no tunnel ing underneath. There are armed guards at every turn and a hundred different mechanical traps for those who seek to pillage. . About eight years ago a fiction writer wrote a story of the robbery of one of New York’s biggest banks, it was so "air tight” In Its plausi bility that a protest was made to the publisher by a group of bankers. New York's population per capita uses more safety deposit boxes than any other city. It Is symbolic of the city's fear. One bank vault In the theatrical district is patronized chief ly by actresses. Whether they have any Jewels or not they like to be seen going In and coming out of the place. The only serious bit of fiction Tllng Lardner ever wrote was called "The Golden Honeymoon.” It was In corporated In a recent book of his work and critics have proclaimed it as the best story he ever wrote. Yet that story was rejected by the editor of a leading weekly magazine. He wrote to Lardner: "Don’t try to be anything but funny.” And when one aces Lardner’s solemnity of expres sion and lugubrious half grin one wonders how he ever manages to pen a line of humor. The world’s toughest Job Is to be a professional humorist. Kin Hub ha rd, the Abe Martin of Indianapolis, recently returned from a trip around the world. Everywhere h# went peo pie expected him to perpetrate the smart wheeze. He couldn't Incite a single giggle. The only place he was able to fashion his mlrth-provoklng philosophy Is at a certain desk In a certain corner of his workshop In Indiana. A New Yorker recently returned from a trip to Jerusalem. He brought hack a bottlo of holy water for hla son. who In turn wished to present It to his Sunday school teacher. The night of his return eome guests came and he decided to mix them a cooling drink. The bottle of holy water was In tha Ice cheat and by mistake It was used for a table water. I had thought up what I thought was a rlp-roarlng bon mot about the Incident above and I rehearsed It with the floor maid at my hotel "Don't be after Jokin’ about holy water." she said. "It’s bad luck and 5’ou’ll come to no good end.” I'm not superstitious, but there Isn't enough room In the space today to tell It. Anyway It perhaps wasn't much of a JeSie. You can always laugh off a Joke, but you can’t always laugh off bed luck. Still I’m not superstitious. (Copyrlsht. 1»J4.) - _/ Impatient; he got up, threw on a bath robe and shufTIed whistling into the bathroom. He got into a warm tub, and as he lay contemplating his own unclothed body through the light green water his mood of speculation returned to him. The legs anil arms, economically built, useless in these days of relaxation, but proudly effec tiv© on the athletic field; the smooth yet knotty trunk; the virginal soft skin; the sprouting flocks of useless little hairs—how strange, how lnlin itely suggestive. His own, yet not his own; utterly beyond his control, yet instinct with his very being. A tem ple, the boringly righteous said. That was all blat; but there was truth hidden behind it. Then he would scrub vigorously, making that clean thing that was not his own yet not his own cleaner, un necessarily and Joyfully clean, lie would dress, go downstairs, devour an enormous breakfast and forget everything in plans for the day. Every summer ha and his mother went abroad. They would spend a month in England, mostly in London, a fortnight in Paris and the rest of the time In some place like Evian Or Grenoble or St. Moritz. The changing panorama of places, people and hotels was never boring, but it became largely a routine, a thing to be gone through for the sake of his mother and her annual harvest of Paris gowns. He was always glad to go hark to school, though there was no time there for his early morning medita tions. To wake up there was to get up. His powers increased with his stature; he rose steadily and easily through the forms; he became third base on the school nine, an editor of the Hilltonian, a prefect. Then, al most before he had a chance to enjoy the fullness of it, that stage was over; he was ready for college. At this time—and he did not change much for years—his outstanding physical attributes were as follows: Height, five feet eight; weight, 150 pounds; a light oliv^i skin; dark hair and dark gray eyes. Nose short and straight, mouth broad, forehead verti cal and rather high. He wore his hair parted in the middle, whence it fell smoothly down on each side. The lines thus formed, together with a certain angularity of the lower jaw bones, gave his face when viewed from the front a roughly hexagonal shape. This was often noticed by girls, and considered rather attrac tive. CHAPTER III. I. Kit sat in his room in Wright Hall, tiying to study and palpitating uncon trollably. A tremendous thing was about to happen: Jack Caslon was coming to room with him. Kit’s first roommate, whom he had inherited from Hillton, had broken down and left college, and Kit had immediately asked Jack Caslon to replace him. To night, after some delay, he was act ually coming. Jack was so Inextricably part of the daily texture of chapel, recita tions. the postofllce crowd and the swarming groups in dormitory rooms that Kit could not remember when h© had first seen him. But he remem bered very well his first real talk with him. A whole crowd of them had gone to the movies one evening: he ifound himself beside Jack as they walked him and Jack had begun talk ing about California in his eager, forthputting, humorous way. By the time they reached the campus this blond, blue-eyed, unnotlceable class mate had, in some unaccountable way, become the most Important per son in Yale. A step on the stair; the door opened and Jack appeared, between two suit cases. His first remark was the name of the Savior. The word bore some ostensible reference to the weight of the suitcases, but it was primarily use as decent covering to an emotion al moment. Jack was often blasphe mous, but not that time. “So there you are," said Kit fatu ously. "No," said Jack. "I may seem to be here, but my heart's in the hie lands. of Fayerweather. Did you ever live on a fifth floor, without an ele vator? It’s an experience. The place reeks with your kinetic energy. Wh»n I die and am collected and called home, a large Item of me will hurry from the conscious steps of Fayer weather. This my room?” He stood in the bedroom he was to occupy, still hatted and coated, and stared about. “How bare and cold this place looks', (lot to change all that. Pers'nality—the great Interior decorator. The one thing that can make a room look like a room, and not a mere place intended for hu man habitation.—These portraits of my mother and sister—I don't insist they're handsome, but what an air they Impart to that uninteresting piece of furniture!” He slammed them down on the chiffonier and regarded them. “Pers'nality! The—the thief of nonentity. Epigram. And this will be my shirt drawer.” After he had hung some neckties over the electric light, scattered shoes all over the floor, spilled a bottle of | hair oil on the bed and otherwise ! invested tile place with the stamp ol his individuality, he returned to the study. "We will now devote a quiet hour to Work." he announeed. “J.iv.v. You've read some. Well, you may go over what you've translated, slowly and elegantly, explaining the more obscure points of syntax as yon go." For an hour they read Livy. When they reached the point where Kit had left off Jack went blithely ahead, un hampered by grammar, but always approximating the sense of the pas sage. At the end of the assignment lack threw his arms behind Ms head ' the hook on the floor, and whis tled._ "Kit Newell A neat and suggestive name. New Kittle. Nit Kewell, Kew NIttle. Two Nickel, Tin Wekell— hiiw many are there, I wonder? Well. New Kittle, we're here because we re here because we’re here because we're here. 1 wonder what will come of it.” "Nothing very alarming,” said Kit. “I don't know. I don't know. . . . Have you any Idea of the devastating effect of perpetual companionship'' What possibilities for hatred lie in a favorite tune whistled indiscrimi nately, or a certain manner of chew ing cornflakes?" "Oh," said Kit, "I'm not afraid. No doubt I shall be damnably irritated with you, often, and you with me -' — But ... I don't think it will matter. Be normal about thins*, and thlngs'll be no ma| about you." Jack smiled, but without comfort. "That's a strong and pleasant philoso phy. and It fits you well. But it doesn't tit a guy like me, who'm never in control of the incidental. I have a badly-ordered type of mind. You have a well-ordered one. and Kit got up and lightly muiacd Jack's hair. ‘ You're an ass." he said, sitting down on the arm of Jack a chair. “But go on. Tell me some more about yourself.—Gosh, what a *«1*Y thing to say! I never said it before. (To Bo C ontlnu«*<l Tomorrow.) Ain’t It a Grand and Glorious Feeling You fief A LETTer? prom Yokj ujRiTr. twcm a meat a firm 6AVIM6 Tney ujovld Amo snappy reply 5ayn<i BE. GLAD To HAVE YbUR IT IS VouR. ReCOLLECTIOAj Check To Balance vbo paid the Bill. And That . YboR account _ YoO arc *SDR«V Thcy Have. OVERLOOKED YcaJB PRoPCR credit '! ; /, • ,J By Briggs ■/otv (3e T AkIOTmbR -SHARP letter ADV(Sin6 Vou ' That Vc>i~» had Better. v>- - ' /ATTEND To The MATTER AT ONCE 1 _ A wee* later y01_> gs,t a letter SaTiniS Th at I a 'You Do mot Rcaait BCPore the First. They vx/ill have To 5eMO The account to the C*=L«D«T EXCHANGE *=fc>ri COLteCTIOW.... YchJ CAST «t AS»D>e ini Contempt "Tmgm You £tart &C>6in<; To FIND file CANCCLLED CHECK UJlTM ' "Cl I You I'AID rne 0ILt \wr -AMD UJH^T'J MORI; YcXj FlMD IT amD Tak(1 *T To TH<£ MA(JAOeR‘5 oFFlCej FoROimG HIF' To APoLOGI2e OH M h - boy! aih't »r A OR R- R-RAND THE NEBBS yes and paint it red, white and blue. DirectedforTb*0P<^Ml!*,®eebySo Hc“ ^-—— - -1—I—I- , -y. ■,-WiV^' . - J MB- NE8B , l HEARD SOO'RE in^~"\. /TuiS CAR OiyT6U\NES .ANV CTTHERY f “THE MARKET TOR AM AUTOMOBILE -1 ( CAR LiKE TVAE SON DOES “THE \ l REPRESENT THE OE LUXE EIGHT ( LIGHT' ON A MINER’S CAP- IT'S \ I - ns A COUPLE CHAPTERS AVTER ) \ GOT SPEED- POWER AND AT THE the last word in cars ^ \ same time its as contort able; " as a rocvong Chair. y—/ |/^Tseem looriZ£\ rvoo AiK<rgo^S\(v"® aS^SjiSStN DlGNlPlED LOOVONG \ AT -WE wmz St* \ /to but PWMt. N\^^t a car what JOB - AMD GET-AWW! \_TMERE'S AGOOD AkjD MiCREL PLATE \\cLowS VT- ITIS GOT ^ _ MAM - IT WILL X CAP AUO BEAOTTUL ARE WOO 7 Ol)R |(°0 STRIPED L)P , JUMP AWAV PROW! \ _ its dolled up/ CAR is A BIG car j l,*e A Z.EBRA- mo ln>? \ ANWTHING ON WHEELS,) EIRE A CHORUS. / AND I GET AS X wDL',X3!l5E^n^CATioM ( VajimGS OR PEET JX GiUe Jy MAMW MILES TO j ECOMOMW. or OPERATOR W-L _^ V y^ /'THE GALLON OP A' ^ (S.“«SSM ~ ^________ (Copyright, 1924, by The Ball Syndicate, _ __ Barney Google and Spark Plug Barney Got Some “Info” But It Doesn’t Help Any. - Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck TsuNSWInE You KEEP BUST AROUivO ThS lUQRKS "Till X GET BACK « I TO GOING OUT AMD LOOK UP COLONEL FoTZ -X ij domT know who he is But i sauo iu "The papers inhere he s leauimg for Europe - if vnE're Going across as Bunch of StouuAujavs That eiRO <?A|\J Ojue us sop^e valuable info ON Inhere To HI os - You stick ARooNO • in. ©e Right back UllTH All THE DOPE ) BRINGING UP FATHER SS.S^Sr^^v'Si Drawn for The Omaha Bce b, McM.nu. WHT DIO | EVER MAKE . TOO MEAM TO TELL ) NEP-WE MADE THIts ‘bNOKIN'BET ME THAT TOO l?>ET ] THE 0>E T OVER WITH DOOAN - tn HAD Jit A S'OOO THA.T A WEEK. AGO THE MOMET I O PAT ^3| HE'D t^HOKE BEFORE THE-li>ET AM AK& ^ TOO 'WCV U- <T ° HERE © >924 av Int l FrATuaac Scitvicr. Inc JERRY ON THE JOB VERY LIMITED EDUCATION. - Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban ~ ~ ___ (Copyright 1*24) -- —> 'TUESE S Sbwtfmwyj ABOUT ~^>S' ;jo"VT > Gcrr Secrets >a T-E AG(20i>JTX r' I AmO 1 MATT j 1 ’■ttyrr iKi Ai r ( BbSMtSS ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Herthfield Hagen Couldn't Tut It Over on Him. / 1 V-oRGOt, ITS \ X^ LElv COCPER I'M DEALING UdYH* ^WH^w •■ A 9 .Lt- *■' .'VI -u y. »«■ «. 1- Ow*J|te»8M “T-- -- —-=-L.~_T 1 HOW MANV j 'tou make the SECOND HOLE \}SJ, ABE ? l »