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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 20, 1924)
I, THE KING By W'AYLAND WELLS WILLIAMS. (Copyright, 1924.) (Continued From Saturday ) The two snorted, not really embar rassed. trusting Kit. "Lucky for you we're good natured,” called Dick. "Lucky for you I am,” Len wondered into the bedroom, placed bis hands on the hack of Kit’s spring chair, and bore down on it. They contemplated each other's faces in reverse. "Kit, old sow, you're not—?” "Lord, no. I'd have yelled." "It was just gas.” "On the contrary, it was most illuminating.—Illuminating gas!—No. Do you know, it finished out a con versation I heard begun at school, years ago. . . . Run along and play. Economics to do.” When Len had gone he took a pleo, of paper and wrote: "I am a triangle of Impulses—intellectual, physical and something that's both religious and social. Mind, body, morals. The triangle is equilateral, and that's the devil of it. With most people the triangle Is lsoceles, generally scalene. —IIow near the truth is that?” V. Several times a term he descended on New York and danced. He soon decided that the most successful debutante of the epoch was Maud lloffington. She had grown up beau tiful, chiefly by virtue of her com plexion, ‘ which was of the transpar ent, mother-of-pearl type, rising to faint rose shades. She was very sweet and quite unspoiled. Kit scanned her closely for traces of her brother's snobbishness, a thing he could not stand in him, but not in her. He found nothing. In sophomore year he had her up for the Prom. She sat in Ills fever ishly tidv study and made canary sounds that rang strangely in Durfee. '“Mr. Caslon. why does Kit call you Chelt? I understand why you call him New Kittle, hut . . . Oh, of Course. I heard all about Cheltenham when I was seeing about the pro grams for the Junior League show. I was a Spanish dancer, Kit—you should have seen me! Oh, Kit, what do you think? Sophronia Spencer s coming—she must he here now! Roh by Vandermyll’s bringing her. His mother's delighted, because since Cora married the chauffeur she s been watching his step every minute. So of course she simply dotes on So phronia, who looks like a portrait of one’s great-aunt—the plain one, who never married. His mother s com ing up to chaperone, and l do so hope she'll wear her tiara. It's turquoises, Mr. Caslon, and looks as if she d been collecting robins' eggs and stuck them on a gold toast rack. Oh, I do think people are marvelous!” Kit’s class thought she was, and hung over the furniture, fascinated. "How do you get on with Jack.’ inquired Kit during a dance.^ New York • ■Day by Day __' ny o. o. McIntyre. New York. Oct. 19.—A page from the diary of a modern Samual Pepya: Up and by tram to Forest Hills to the piano recital of my cousin Jose phine and she as fair and pretty as ever I saw her and played methought with amazing skill. Back to the city In Roy Mc Cardell's gasoline wagon and to lunch at Earl Carroll's roof bunga low and he wore a mandarin’s coat which Marcelle brought from Paris. Home and fashioned a line or so but with great weariness. In the afternoon putting my books in order and had a long contentful talk with my wife and she played some tunes and I sang and not wholly had either in especial: ‘"When You and I Were Young Maggie." To dinner at the Blltmore Cascades and watched the sun coming through the gold lattice and I deem it the prettiest spot in town albeit the meal was spoiled hy a surly waiter, each of us losing our tempper. So to bed. Down along the water front an unusual sight Is the youthful "dum my" rider who rides horseback in front of the engines that switch the vast army of food freight cars arriv ing daily. These youngsters are Paul Reveres of the tracks warning ve hicular and pedestrian traffic of ap proaching trains. In the day time ♦hey carry red lanterns. They ride fast and furious and many Jockeys started careers there. Those of the "dummy” riders who do not become Jockeys stick to rail roading. The lure of railroading Is, I believe, the mightiest of all callings. Once one hears the call no other oc cupation seems of consequence. It seems to me railroading too offers the biggest chance for advancement among obscure workers. Nearly all big railroad executives started at the bottom of the ladder. Because New York Is s city of sounds, the blind find it the easiest place In the world In which to get about. The metropolitan blind ac quire the awareness of the woods men in their travels. Very’ few have •scorts to take them about. They are the hunter and hunted and find a warning in the rustle of a falling leaf. People with good eyes are daily cun down and killed but among ail the bllind of Now York there has not been a street accident In a year. In ‘heir black world the process of com pensation is in the honk of the motor the rattle of cars, the cry of news boys and the clatter of the elevated trains There is a blind news dealer who had never before been to Union Square until one evening recently. He said once: "This Is Union Square. T can tell by the feel of It.” He couldn’t explain why. A de luxe tailoring establishment for men is to open shortly on Park avenue. A business suit is to cost S225 and dinner and evening suits *300 There will he no two suits made of the same pattern. This tailoring idea is one that New Yorkers will welcome \Ilth avidity. The cloths will not perhaps h# superior to those of the ordinary tailor but back of it ai! is the chance the patron has to boast of the high price. That is considered smart and givea an unusual swank among friends. The other day I mildly chided a young boy 'if tl who came to see me for purloining a pencil from my desk. Afterward I felt guilty. It has been years since 1 bought a pencil yet somehow I seem to have a plontl ful supply and nobody aa I remem lier of have given me one. (Copyrlsht, “Beautifully. He doesn’t dance so badly—really. And if his hair was brushed right— l)o you know it's awfully deter of you to part vour hair in the middle? With most 'peo pie it wouldn’t do, but—” “What does Jack talk to you about?” “You. mostly. And him!” "And you?” "Well, a little.” Kit smiled. "Have you got to the point of discussing whether you're 'sincere' with each other?” "Ycr, and it's quite delightful. We've decided we neither of us are, a bit!” "Oh,” groaned Kit, "that’s fatal! That I should know jealousy, at my age!” He was beaming. Maud, the con ventional Maud, accepted Jack at his face value; he liked her the better for It; everything was fine. And Maud In some obscure way understood, and liked him better. It was a wonderful Prom. He generally saw Maud when he went to town and one day, by way of variety, he took her to one of Aunt Emmy’s strange gatherings in Eighth street. Maud leaned over a case of Florentine ivories and gig gled. “Kit, they’re so marvelous! That man, there, with the gold bangle, asked if he could paint me, the first thing he said, and another one came up and they had a long discussion about whether my hair was Bellini or Somebody Vecchio. Then that Vision in the green velvet bathrobe barged in and said, 'You two boys mustn't bore -Miss Hofflngton any longer,’ and she started talking about the Junior League. T could have killed her. Greenwich Village—if this is it—is more fun than a French farce.” "It's funny,” said Kit. “why Aunt Emmv likes It all so. She’s a sweet old thing in her way. She gives them all tea, and lets them dream on. It's all the love of Art, I sup pose. It’s funny, though, how little Mother has of it. Merciful heavens —did you ever notice our drawing room furniture? Rosewood and tas sels—my grandmother bought it in ’51!" “Yes. Rosewood's coming hack, I hear.” “You doij't say so. One can he fashionable once in a hundred years, I suppose, by just sitting tight.—Oh. dash it, some one's going to per form.” The black lid of the piano was fan ning the air with a minatory gesture. “Hush, everybody!” yelled she of the green velvet, clapping her hands. “Miss Vane's going to play the Schu mann Fantaisie.” A determined look ing young woman in a scant black gown sat down at the keyboard, rub bing her hands. Maud sank into a chair; Kit leaned against a Flemish tapestry. ■The young woman In black was vig orous, and thorough. Her long sin ewy arms made the startled piano fairly leap. Apparently it was Schu mann’s idea that it should. Kit felt that she and Schumann would have got on splendidly together. “Her wind's O. K.,” he whispered to Maud. “She's down on the punts every time, and she's hell broke loose in an open field.” Presently all that died away, and the end was a thing of dripping leaves at twilight. The black girl rose amid applause and bowed. Her face struck Kit. The mouth, slightly parted, ac cepted the homage, but the eves were nugatory. The total effect was one of aloofness:—"Yes, yes, but you don't understand. Schumann meant some thing. and I’m not at all sure that I get it.” “Her name's Mary vane. and she comes frpm Cleveland. I've barely met her. She’s staying with my aunt, I believe." “I wonder if she’d come and play at our house some evening?—She looks so young—can’t he more than seventeen.” They shook hands with Mary Vane on their way out. Her lower lip was still drooping in polite acknowl edgement, her eyes still with Schu mann and his madness. “Thank you, thank you very much,” she said to every one in a deep but smooth voice. Kit approved of her arms, they were so slim and strong. She seemed an ungainly creature hy the side of Maude Hofflngton. of course. VI. T.'if mentioned the Vane girl next evening to his mother, Just before he \v. in i ark to New Haven. "Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Newell, "she's Just come to New York to study for the con cert stage. Emmy knew her mother years ago, and asked her to stay with her till she got settled. They took quite a fancy to each other, and I rather hope the arrangement will be permanent.” "Why, Mother?” “Well. Emmy needs some one to watch her. and keep the worst of that crowd off. They simply bleed m r, you know. . . . It’s bad for a woman to live alone too long.” “You live alone. Mother.” “Oh, no. I have you." “But not much.” "Enough to keep me from feeling too old. And you'll be back beforo long, when you go to the Columbia Law School." “Am I going to the Columbia Law School?” asked Kit after a pause. “Aren't you? I thought that was the idea.” There was a note, of appre hension in her voice, and Kit noted that any plan which would separate him permanently from her had better he discarded. “I don't know,” he said slowly. ”1 haven't made up my mind. I’m rath er thinking of newspaper work, since I heeled the News." "Newspaper work!” said Mrs. New ell, plainly relieved. "Weil, that'll keep you here, at any rate. But why should you want to do that—going round Interviewing actresses?—You’re not bothered about the money, are you. Because you ran go on studying Just as long'as you think best. Your allowance will go on, and you also get five thousand a year by your father's will when you're twenty one.” Kit thought of Len Thomson's fath er's five thousand a year, and won dered if it had been increased. “That won't take too much from you. Moth er? I can pay part of It back." Mrs. Newell smiled. “No, dear, I shan’t need it."' Kit stared at the wallpaper “Moth er, I know you don't like to talk about money. But I’m going to be twenty one in the fall, and . . .’’ "Yes, dear? What Of it?" “I'd like to have some Idea what our Income—your income—I* . . .” "Yes, dear, I ought to have told you before. Why. the total income, on what my father left me and what your father left—T forget Just how much each is—comes to very nearly eighty thousand a year.” Kit s head twitched round toward her. “flood heavens, ns much ns that? It's an awful lot. isn't it?" "It Isn't what you'd call immense wealth, hut It’s more than we need. There's always a surplus. I give away about twenty thousand, snd the rest I Invest.” “You spent twenty thousand a year on charity?" “Why, yes. It seems mean not to. Do you think it’s too much?” "No, heavens no. Rut . , ” “I don’t know," said Mrs. Newell anxiously, “but what I ought to invest more, on your account. It's all yours, really. I love giving away, but—” "No, Mother. Give away every pen ny you want. Only I had no idea it was so much. We live pretty sim ply, don’t we?” "Perhaps you don’t realize,” said Mrs. Newell, still anxious, "how the expenses of an establishment, even with only five servant* and a chauf feur, mount up. The taxes on the house alone are pretty terrific. And what with trips abroad and all, the yearly expenditure oonies to about forty thousand. It seems wasteful, doesn’t it?" she went on, with a feminine change of key. "When one thinks of all the people—'* “Twenty thousand’s a fourth of your income,” interrupted Kit, ris ing and kissing her. “As a miser, you're a failure. I’ve got to go, if I'm to catch the ten o'clock. Good by, now. Take care of yourself." This was the first time he had learned anything much about money since that talk, with I^en Thomson His expenses were light, .and he had never heard big money talk. The no tion of his mother ns a rich woman was entirely new, and staggering. And she gave away more than a quarter of her income. Dead right. He would advise her to give away the whole surplus, and not invest any thing, as far as he was concerned. CHAPTER IV. I. Tt was apropos of Kit’s making the News board that he had his first im portant talk with Jack on the choice of a profession. Jack was Inclined to view the News affair with alarm, and made no bones about saving so. “The famous Yale competitive eys tem," he said, "w hich is perfe* ll- in* operative on a man who needs i! ? course wor ks like a charm i" the case of a man who doesn't need it <E all. If there’s one thing In the woihl you don’t need to he taught, its g* t* tin- little things done. mi time. This'll make you a regular little monster of i i: ii.'ii n< , (f ontlnupil Toniorrnw> THE NEBBS A SMART GUY FROM WEBSTER COUNTY. Directed for The Omaha BeebySolHesa Issss- (ssss%jr«MtuSesfiisF lWT collEGE U uew wttco^AWw'WiS^ «5& *S8&)fcSgtSSw® - ‘‘i,/. ' V ' / f|L.L TWUS POS'T'O'J you CAM START j|tw'A'X TOO 004»wT ; GOOD I.AU6W VlEvJER ' / /O P a/, to you R UTMOST TO^ORRO^ MORW'UGi1 CHARGE WAV-T X MADE. AMVONE • v * f» y Tf WSsa^0—ffT1 ^ik —,, irck -il ■ Barney Google and Spark Plug • Drawn for The B^tby Biy DeBeck - —. ....— — ... - ■ — - ■ - - - .» - - — -, . — --——*»— 1 — i VMHAT AWE SOU ALWAYS CRABBING ABOUT 1 "You KNOW MN NAINO VS J , made up tb go To Europe =» ( Furthermore. , \ue «e all \ going AS STOWAWAYS On Tm£. J First boat we cam catch ■*/ is That clear r BOSS. AH UNOAHSTAMO Pukfectly SuT 1 SE. AFWAIO BEYS GONNA <3E i TwCvuGLE SMUGGLIN'WuoY OM OE SHIP a Vo ALL Know ujhat a pest he is - -—^ sf Copyright. 1924. by King Feature* Syndicate. Inc. I I RRINGING UP FATHFR .l;''.""!* SEE J,CGS AND MAGG1E in full Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus DIYU IVJIIIVJ UI r r\ 1 l 1L.1\ U. 3. Patent Office PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE (Copyright 1924) COONT-TOO HAD I PEAR NOT • E>ETTfcR NOT C,0 J • KNOW HOW NEAR FATHERS H TO HlN) OFnCE - HE'*b VERT U/-—=rt CRanktlatelt: \ tr a ^ j?V i OH! tF OOCAN WOULD ONLY CALL THtt> «btMOKIN’ e>ELT off ro be clad to make hm^ A PRESENT OF A HUNDRED _ l_ COLLARS - I WiTsM i "7%] Tf COULD FOHC'T m ABOUT, “bMOKlM fflj — © 1924 >, Int-i Sirvicc. Inc Creat Britain rights reserved taxe the-oE- ocmr^> L_f . L INTO HR M^O | TOULL ^ TELL H\H THE RENDER ^''T XOOR 1^ OUT HERE ^NOIf-? V/I'OH! : ' ^ mwsa. ^ lo 2o A HUR^E JOt>T PHONEO an' *bAJO TO TELL TOO THAT THE COONT 1*3 IN THE HOSPITAL f HE MUT>T ?—. HAVE T3EEJS Hi JERRY ON THE JOB RIGHTFUL RESIGNATION. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hobac (Copyright 1924) f I CA*T Sroso it \ 'A 'fw OoVou ueavet Birr 1 'avn lowaa-TM^ IUST l /Ae.PissBVA^ WSo—^ Soiwno grab- ^irm n!!Tei >^ ASSbc»*r&s Got au»&\ - Butt MsSfeU: A»cnv» 308 QUA%fceUw6 •'tot £> y^HU. 'ToGFture. • "? ) 4-^« OuARasutf 1 7 AuO 'TUBi Quit. BoSSES" AZZ AWCHS y WT about ' v__, QUA%ftSVi)4(r. T ^ yjTJEx. 1 rwp« Hu ATS1 CPAlClA^N *IOK*’ 1 rcC'yST 'To on.] { ~t*M r rn% \:.:A?.#* :'. ! —• I lf^» •’ 1-t l. FurjBt St^v« ft. rJki> When a Feller Needs a Friend By Briggs O ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield Nothing Lihr Plplomury. Bf l HEAR You NENETS A AND You DON'T \ f NES, I TAKE. THE | GOT A CHAUFFEUR TERRIBLE EXPENSE DRWt THE CAR WHEEL ONCE IN 1 \ NOW arc •• 0M ME' BUT YOURS&T ANY-. AWHILE, SO HE 1 \nu^,*he.. these day$ more? y ( won't think You QOT TD V the oob is. .. Do ITU^^/ 9 X^STEADY^/ r»»r i!