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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 20, 1924)
I, THE KING By WAY LAND WELLS WILLIAMS. (Copyright, 1124.) h_ S (Continued from Kwterday.) They broke away and went to th« elevator. Jen understood, that was plain; the break from the gropp hail been sharp, barely derent. But Kll sat through a whole dinner, talking mechanically about the Peace Con ferenee, Nairava, the artillery and in dtfferent people before he could bring himself to say: “Now then, tell me. I must know.” Jennings flicked his clgaret Intt his coffee cup and eyed him nervous ly. "You've heard nothing, then?” “Only that he was killed. My aunt just told me." Jennings looked down the long bright room. He had a plain, lean, intelligent face with nondescript coloring; his eyes were soft and full of kindness. ' “Well, there’s not an awful lot to tell. He finished his training in England and went out with an English squadron, as a lot did. The squadron was flying Bris tol Fighters, two-seated things, very fast and powerful, used for fighting only. He was out about three weeks, and had brought down at lease one Hun. He was all right, you know, everything fine. I got a letter written about a week before— I'll show it to you if you'll come pound to my room.” “Yes," said Kit. “Go on.” “Well, he and his observer simply went up on ft morning patrol, and flew out of sight. Half an hour later a machine was seen falling, with both wings broken. The thing landed several miles away from the airdrome, just behind the English lines. It was ten feet deep in the ground. ... I haven't heard, hut I suppose—hardly recognizable. But it wasn't such a hard death. They say ..." , He took a drink of water, and went on with a steady voice: “They say he turned his engine full on as he dove. He probably reached the highest speed ever attained by a man. And I guess he was out of It long before he struck—I understand you don't live long, falling liks that —not falling, racing . . .’* “And vras It a German, or Just an hccident?” “No one saw another machine, but they think it couldn’t have been an accident. Bristois don't lose their wings like that: they must have been shot off. Oh, it was a real death.” Walters bustled about them, clat tering plates. The elevator doors opened periodically, emitting small groups of men talking and laughing together as they made their way to tables: others strayed out similarly, having finished. Kit sat wlttj eyes glued on the tablecloth, “Of course.” came Jen's voice, calm and rather beautiful and pluin lv fortified by his Catholic faith. [ - New York, Nov. 19.—A1 Woods is In the return from England business. About every third week he lands from Southampton. He has taken on the loose and tweedy look of the habtual voyageur. And there are rumors he is secretly practicing with a monocle. To me Woods and George White are the most interesting of the Rialto producers. Each came from the east side pavements. Woods is a rough and ready type with booming voice. He makes no effort at htghbrowism, but is one of the shrewdest judges of box office hits in America. No matter to whom he is speaking he begins with: "Now, listen, sweet heart-." Only once has he worn a dress suit and that was at an open ing of a play of his in London. He is shy as a school girl among those he does not know. His jumps to England are always Impulses of the moment. He keeps luggage in his office. On his last trip he finished dictating a letter at 9. He yawned, and with a sigh said: "I haven't seen dear, old perfidious Albion in five weeks." And at 11 he was sailing for Southampton. Young Georgie White is a slim young fashion plate who began his career as a race track boy. His de votion to the ponies is the despair of friends, for he loses heavily. But he has the saving grace of humor to josh himself about his falling even in his own revue. His dancing career began when he was a messenger boy and dropped In at an amateur night on the Bowery. I ie stopped the show. Then he made the rounds of Bowery cafes nightly doing Ills stuff. Irving Berlin was then a singing waiter at “Nigger Mike" Salter's In Chinatown, and Berlin and White be came fast friends. White no longer appears in his revue. Y’et, almost any night III the shadows of the theater toe may be seen doing a syncopated shuffle. Stage folk say “Once a hoofer, always a hoofer." An Rverage of 100 children a day were lost at Coney Island during the summer season. Restoring lost chil dren to mothers is the big job for Coney police. There are so many eights to see that the child stands for a moment in wide eyed wonder, the parents pass on, and zip! conies the lonely wall of the lost. All lost children are taken to a central sta tion, where experienced nurses calm them and soon have them laughing through tears. There is a room also presided over by doctors and nurses whore hysterical mothers are taken. New York's amazing and rapid building construction is one of the marvels of the town. From my win dow I see three-block long buildings— one a 20-story hotel, another a 13 etorled office building, nnd the third a 15-st.ory apartment house building. Not one of these stood there three years ago. Three city blocks were razed at the doorstep, yet so quickly were they built up ttiat few in the. neighborhood realized what was going on until they saw the completed buildings. Another odd tiling about it Is that I can recall the appearance of only one building formerly in the three-block strip. Idon't recall the name of a single store or the type of business therein. Yet I saw and passed them several times a day. I feft my typewriter here and ask ed three people living in the same building that houses me to give the name and the nature of the business housed In a corner one block west And two south. Not one could answer-. M then selected one situated one block vast and one i tor 111. The ssme result. Yet alt passed these places hundreds ef limes, >. v (Copyright, 1921.) , I "there's nothing to regret, really. It was all It could have been, as i death. And as a life. It doesn't do to be too sorry." Kit stirred. “I told myself that when my mother died, and it worked. • Now, it doesn't, somehow. It— doesn’t . . "Let's go," said Jen. He led the way to the elevator and out of the building, to a .room in the east Forties. He Jffibuttoned and threw off his army blouse, offered clgareta and presently took a letter from a table drawer. It was dated Septem ber 17, 1918. The Front. Dear Jen: All goes well. Been out a fort night and up every day; gorgeous weather, though beginning to ,get cold. The Fighters are wonders, and doing great work. Things looking up, scarcely a Hun In sight, except In Circuses; on the run pretty stead ily. as I suppose with you. But I've got one of the bitches to my credit, D. V.!—I mean, thank God. Sorry not to have si^yi you in England, but I’m glad you saw George Robey. Fairish, what? Pretty putrid lot of shows all season, though; Nurse Benson was about the best thing I saw. The Russ ans were dancing at one of the Halls, but I didn’t get to them. Poor old Kit—Oh Jen, I cried all night after your letter. Of courso out here one tries not to think much about it and one gets hardened, but this, it won't out. To he thrown away like that, on a useless silly business—just coldly chucked away, as you tear up a one-cent circular without even opening the envelope. I don't know how far that captain was to blame, hut if he was—It’s too awful to write about. It's a hole in one, that will never be filled, or stop aching. Lord knows when I’ll see you; we don't get to Paris. I shall take my first leave In England, but eventually I'll be transferred to the A. E. F.. and then what ho! Ever yours, old thing. JACK. Kit leaned forward, put his hands over his face and sobbed and sobbed. His chest rose and fell In long con vulsive heaves; the hot tears trickled through his fingers; his head was bursting. This went on for minutes, then gradually subsided. When he looked up, Jen was leaning back in a morris chair, wiping his eyes. ‘‘Oh, Lord!" groaned Kit, dropping his head in his hands again. “Oh, Lord!” "Better to have it out,” said Jen. Kit stopped crying, went to a star tionary washstand in one corner of the room, bathed Ids face and took a glass of water. He sat down again, able to talk, in sudden need of talk ing. “Of course if there's one thing that could have made it worse, it's knowing that he felt that way—this way—about me. Because there's no use in modesty; I know he was as fond of me as I was of him. Oh. Jen, what a personality he had' What a brain!” Jen's eyes, though still warm with sympathy, took on a certain intellec tual detachment. “Wait—better get it straight. As for brains, there were many as good and some better. As for personality, he had great weak nesses. You simply liked him. Not that that makes it any easier, of course." "Yes, you’re right. It was just him that I loved." "I was pretty cut up myself,” con tinued Jen. "We were on the Lit. together, and good friends before that. But I know It’s a lot harder for you. Do you know, there was something quite unusual about your friendship. It wasn't the ordinary college affair, at all. You wouldn't have cared half as much If any of the rest of us had been killed. It was what you were able to do for him that made you love him—that extraordinary psychological kink that—" Kit did not follow him; he had got up and was walking about the room. ''That's just it—why it had to be he that died, out of all the others. Oh, J«n, I'd have felt badly enough to >jse you,, but I can't pretend that I ever felt about any one as I did about him. Why the best thing— the one really good thing in my life —had to be destroyed—can you ex plain it? Why couldn't we both have died? I was so near it once; just the barest chance saved me. Oh. God! Cod . . . Why do pe/iple say there'? no God? Of course there is. No accident, nothing but a God could have arranged this. A cruel, malicious God—” "Come, buck up,” interrupted Jen with some sharpness. "The fool that said in his heart there is no God was just a fool. He didn't say there was a bad one.” "Oh, but Jen, how’s one to believe anything else? What's God for. If not to preserve the fine and good and godlike in us? Why does He1 let us down this way? Thai'* it— stand back let the good go under and the wicked prosper—" His voice, that had risen to a shrill note, like a child's, stopped i;i mid air. Ife. remembered Jen's faith, and knew that he must be hurting him. *T'm sorry, Jen. I know this must sound awful to you. X don't know that I fully believe it myself, but—' Jen had risen, and put his arm over Kit’s shoulders. "No, no!" ho said hoarsely. "Of course you don't!" Kit "as struck by the feeling In his voice; knew at once that it was a deep and real thing, no mere echo from priests and popes, and warmed to it. "Thank*, Jen." he blurted obliquely, taking Jen's free hand. “You mean, I—t don't know what you mean, but thanks all the same.” He sank down in the chair again, covering his face. Presently he looked up again and spoke, quIq^V but with horrible bitterness. "Whatever it i*. though, whoever did it or dldn t do it. I e»> ;t * damn able. I needed him. Nothing gave me what he gave, or ever will acair. The beat thing I had ia spoiled, broken. I'll never have it again ’' Nairava, and all it meant, might not have existed in the cruelty of this discovery. For it seemed to him that death was more than an inde terminate parting: it was more like a disfigurement. For two year* he hart not seen Jack; for days he had not thought of hlin; yet still he had been happy, though loving hlin. lie had been happy until today, though Jack was six months dead. The Ignorance of It, the helplessness! It was a foulness, a degradation to hu man love. ,, He shivered, then stood up, feeling cold and lax all over. "Well, 1 mu* l go. Jen. 1 have no key, and they II f be waiting up for me 1 want to »ee ( you, a lot, and I don t want to see any one elee. yet. Meet me for lunch tomorrow, will you?" (To Be Continued Tomorrow.)_^ THE NEBBS / BUY THE WAY. Directed for The Omaha Bee by 5ol Hess (Copyright 1924) w _ T- ' - ■ 11 ’ ' . Mcf>v _ - _ / FfcftMK. WICKO* ) /-7-r, .• _ V I _i would BC S -/ OU UELLO. ) PLCP-Sto »r vou „ \ ■ u\cxov< •. WILL LUNCW f yEc, VLI 2>C W&ob CLU0E AoaiGUTtO- ^ ABOUT HU3oj) TwW PROMPTLY #:!#>, ) ' s'M\S$> NOLAN, IF ANT Okie. SWOUlQN / as,* roQ ME telethemtmw I'M i J lunch\n£* vvjvtw Ranker frank a \ UC.KOK AT THE ARlSTON ClUB ^AnO \ l DON'T rO«&ET TO MENTION THE \ V_-L-—s fact that mesa Banker/ S}\S anD The name OE S I ^tg^-tMECLUB,^-—^ i j?5 H fSWTJ If L°1 /VaR - M\CVCOk: ~Vu\S ISN /'CERTftwJU* ir noo 'x CERVft'^LS ft SjWELU ]| I lKC _ TuiS 'S ft i PLftCL- VO UVCEtO c^CLUSWO V JOIN] - l GOV ^ L9T I ORC.CXK1 a ftTlOW fttJO \ or n\OMEN ftwO l :QMr vS vERV TCRVUNtfE j GOES>t> C.V.U3 i~VO BE ft MEMBER • I : 1SK TsoL^«j,fct gyj,1*<e" ( fO\y ftPPUCA^QNV/S ~0L;3U L-^/ 4"". ] j Ufrev CWuso^i^ _(Copyright, 1M4, by Th« B«il SynA'Ht.. tni) J » --- VAJELL WE'SE S,TEPP'Kl&,T\/6u UOW FoeTONtfE’., AtO*J6 MOTMES2- I U&O CfcuGWC. LUMCU wnw SPjNiiW pap-nr£, "WCaE hTcko* kt -twt awwon *W CiuS - !ro!wrt«s-«trp CftOfcL frCTWlTV- WElD’ vfoO V<NOVJ &,9C|Pkl nCiO - ^EMVJ'TW r^THEC UJIA'*'J^O NEV.SJ ®'-000 ^ s ^V40^y ,3^'^P^M^uVmGS iSoTO&tMOTO ! ^f^cbeoW VQR / pwcev CU)G VNi j ^ WPl'C^'O^r £ Tof£C*tH ^--—■—rr=^r"'^ s amc. il^TCh; / ^r?k> v Barney Google and Spark Plug 0 NOW SPARKY CAN SEE HIS WAY OVER. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck (Copyright 1921) ^ . »I I _ BRINGING UP FATHER Registered U. S. Patent Office SEE JIGGS AND MAGGIE IN FULL PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus _(Copyright 1>24> fJObT THINK*C.A.«bE>f. MV WIPE f HVbN*T bPOKEN TO ME! PER J AN' WON’T TALK , TO ME1 * / _ - ^ SEE.! I WI^H wy wire I wot. like: S thmvc ^x AW! DOT IT't’ ~T~~ AH' AWFUL J . — WORRV: J MOTHER. ( KK^ ^ XOU-bHELL WEAKEN AN' 'bTART r. G<t24 *v iNTt, S*i*vtc*. Inc. ( ) Gr*»t Brittin nfhu reserved //•%$ ^—; j “ JERRY ON THE JOB_ WHY NOT FAVOR FIGSBY? Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban fCopyrisht 1924) - — . . . ' ■■■■■■» 'These? '■miuas tli. Stamo f Le>0m« Vos. a 30b Eh"? Toa ^NTj'TViMas- a 'womt- > vweoe vou v__ 4w) AM IMSUCT IS Am ^ ( tMOIjcNEO lASY ?? I IMSULY • VJUEM MSTiGSBV ?A»ilS ME OUT U*E aiSY Dome, i Loot Toa V_, AMC-IUBW* ^ i Movie of a Man Discoveririg His Name in the Income Tax List By Briggs . —--1- ■ --—-- --— . ■ - » — »-. ■ ■ NOThiw<S in TM5 * PaPglir5 AMY, MORS1’ "H6Reo the tay 'maVOB mV . list agai h - - t\L, it " iee if Therg’s * anybody * kmow i^n "Lar* -vaj-j • UU .... VAJ6* ' —-r'sm’c-JL±kJ ' ey 6eoR<se!! mere it «s Sore. emoo6w* vajecu »'cu 'Bit Dotf; GQNOV. --* WELl WHAT XJO YOU" I kmouj 'BouT That; ,1 1 _r.. Jr A - weu cee vsihiz! ” i /"ThbV OU6HT To ' Fob BiD Publication* C* THOit LIST3-- IT‘5 KOBOOVS Bu,SlN©a.s! * (prcte^ds To e* uttar MUCH PUT OUT v ABOUT ITJ ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield It's All in the r<iint of View. ,