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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 16, 1925)
I “THE GOLDEN BED”"] By WALLACE IRWIIS. Produced aa a Paramount Picture by Cecil* B. DeMille Iron) a Screen Adaptation by Jeanie Maepheraon. (Copyrlabt. 1114) L._ <Coatlnaed (mm TwUrdij.) Admah looked around and saw her ■sated In a group of laughing admir ers, some of the young married set from the Sycamore Club. Her hazel •yes were vivacious, her mouth was open, showing straight white teeth, her yellow hair, cut short, clung round her forehead like a gllden cloud. Vaguely Admah recognized other members of the group. Hunter O'Neill, who had been married and divorced within a year, was muggiing a flask under the edge of the table. Admah should have put a stop to It. But his resolution evaporated, as it always did at sight of Flora Lee. How beautiful she was! He stood two yards from her chair, unaware of the business around him.- Amidst the friendly cackle of her audience ■he went hilariously on: "Soma day I’ll write a guide book and tell the world what to avoid In Spain. There's the dear little flea— the only Spaniard I ever met with any pep. Except the mother-in-law—if you’ve never been to Spain you've never seen a mother-in-law. Mamma San Pilar! She used to go round the place counting my cigaret stubs.” "Must have been some counter," suggested Hunter O’Neill, adoring her with,bloodshot eyes. "She was the human adding ma chine. She used to walk In her sleep —like Lady—you know that one In Shakespeare—and when she walked she counted. She counted my hair pins and the buttons on my under wear and the bottles under my bed. I certainly knew all about the Spanish Inquisition when I got through with Bunny’s mother. And before I’d mar ry—” Was It an accident that her •yes lit on Admah Holtz and lingered ■n instant without recognition? Then she finished, "I'd marry a Jockey." "They're doin’ right well this year.” ■uggested O'Neill, unscrewing the •topper on his generous silver flask. “What’s the style In America?” drawled Flora I,ee. "Do we drink •tralght out of the bottle?" O’Neill looked around, and spying Admah, held up a finger with a pleas ant, patronizing, "Hello, Mr. Holtz!’’ "Good evenin', sir." Recovered from his surprise and from the emo tions which, for an instant, had gnashed at each other like savage dogs, Admah came forward.s The eyes of the group were upon him, but he saw only Flora Lee's. They were splendid In their lazy Indifference. "Say, Mr. Holtz," began O'Neill, lowering his voice. “I wonder if you could send us a quart of White Rock and some glasses. We've got every thing else." He raised his flask un der the table edge and wagged it sig nificantly. "I'm sorry. Mr. O’Neill,” replied Admah with a sort of cheerful cold ness. “It's against the law, you know.” Admah eensed a barbarous Joy in O’Neill's discomfiture. He was glad to have the upper hand, and for mixed reasons. These high-toned peo —-—- v New York —Day by Day— .__—-——/ By O. O. M’INTYRE. New Orleans, .Tan. 15.—This Is per haps the most expensive city In America In which to die. Until re cently no one was burled under ground and the magnificent mauso leums constitute one of the wonders and showpieces of New Orleans. The most famous of the burial grounds is the Metairie cemetery. It contain! among others the monu ments of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston and Gen. Stonewall Jackson. The av erage monument costs around $30,000 and a few cost $150,000. Sightseeing wagons are at every hotel to take visitors to the burial grounds. The approach to them are through picturesque groves with chains of artificial lakes. There are pretty walks, white shel! roads and huge live oak treee festooned with gray Spanish moss. A few miles away is I.ake Pont ehartrain, where General Jackson landed in 1814. Near the old Spanish fort is a glimpse of Holland with the myriad sails of the oyster luggers. Returning from the Spanish fort we drove through St. Charles street, one of the finest residential streets in the world. It was dusk, and the lights were beginning to hlase In the fine colonial structures. In the yards one saw many stately palms and tropical plants. In the center of a wide street Is a grassy mall where the street cars run. This strip was once the open sewers of New Orleans which has von a heroic fight for sanitation. The water Is pure and pestilence has been wiped out. The French quarter is, of course, the piece de resistance for the elght aeer. In these narrow streets where old homes with their picturesque bal conies have withstood time valiantly Is to be found the gaiety of New Or leans. Midnight cabarets flourish and smiling ladies sit at tables to encour age drinking and get their percentage therefrom. The cabarets are colorful but not ornate. The «1d French market occupies four city blocks. More than 20 lang uages are spoken there. The market offers the greatest variety of fruits, vsgctables, meats, fish and game to be found anywhere. The sharp bar gaining creates a babble of tongues. The New Orleans marketer knows how to drlvs a sharp bargain. New Orleans loves the sport of kings. The racing form* are eagerly sought and everywhere you see people Studying "past performances." Sev eral daily turf papera are published hare. They tell of gambling house runners but I did not encounter the gentry. Perhape my gay shirts gave them the Idea I was one of them. I met the “New Orleans Kid" an odd bit of human flotsam who has roamed the world but always conies back like a baif penny to New Or leans. "The Kid" believes In taking Ufa as he finds It. "When I wear out my shoes I find I «m on my feet," he said with a philosophic grin. HI# last quixotic adventure was In Spain where he said he was asked to leave merely because he remarked that Spain would ho a nice place to •tart something. Th| Creole holies are famed for their*beauty. And they are Indeed beautiful but there Is s haunting melancholy about them it. eeeme to me. They suggest moonlight nights, • balcony and * Spanleh gultay. (Copyright, 1(23.) -.—-■ I i pie could make game of him In their own home*. Good. But Herslnger's belonged to Admah Holtz, and they should know It.« Even though he looked away, he could feel Flora Lee's eyes. His revenge was an unworthy one; but most revenges are. "When did you join the Anti Saloon League?" asked O'Neill. “I ain’t joined It. and I don't sup pose I ever will," replied Admail. "I don’t mind takin' a nip once in a while—off the premises. But Her slnger's got a reputation to keep up, Mr. O'Neill.” "That's funny,'* grumbled O'Neill, rather clumsily, pocketing the flask. "I've had bootleg here twice at least.” True, no doubt. Like many another of his profession Admah had been obliging. Even he was surprised at his sudden rush of Puritanism. “I’m afraid it's the last time," he was beginning when a movement from another chair caused him to turn and stare Into the face of Flora Lee Peake. She had arisen and was regarding him with a look that was childlike and bland. * "Well,” she drawled, "If It Isn't the Candy Man!” Admah, who had steeled himself to he self-possessed In his defiance of Satsuma rights, withered suddenly under the artlessness of her attack. So this was the Candy Man! Her look was bright, her voice like honey. She might have spoken just so had she recognized one of her grand father's old slaves, wandering bare foot along the waterside. He found himself mumbling something inane to the effect that he was the Candy Man. But her Interest had fled. "It's messy here,” she was saying to her companions, "I know the love liest little Wop dump down on Nes tor Street. Why In the world any body wants to live In this beast of a country—" And In the best of spirits, volley ing the new Herslnger's with pleas ant abuse. Flora Lee led her sprlght ly train out through the store and Into the street. Admah Holtz stood still, just where she had stricken him, his heid whirling. He had defied the Tradition and had been felled by a simple phrase. The Candy Man. Well, he was the. Candy Man. Rut why should she have remembered that one thing about him? f A crowd was constantly coming and going In the busy Saturday trade, but he saw* less than their shadows. Glar Ing after his victorious enemies, he wondered what had possessed him to make this petty demonstration? Or if he hated them, as was his right, why hadn't he gone berserk and made a loud, healthy scene of It? Morbidly he recalled a gold tooth which O’Neill had shown. Why hadn't he aimed at that tooth and let Herslnger's go hang? He strolled abstractedly over to a table where a company of Margaret's paper dolls simpered like Circassian slaves, begging to be bought. He started a little when he found Mar garet there and realized that she must have witnessed the scene In the back of the store. "After all," ehe said quietly, “you were right about the liquor. This Isn't a saloon.” *'I didn’t mean to be rough,” he mumbled, and was panic-stricken with the ,t®rribl« feeling that he wanted to cry. "It's hard not to be sometimes. Isn’t it—and to be honest?” she ob served. Then came a sensitive, sar castle turn to her mouth, and she said, “But you mustn't mil quinine with your candy. It’s good for peo ple. maybe, but they don’t like it.” | "You’ve said something, Miss Peake," he agreed, and found himself laughing as he showed her out of the store. That laugh wras not for long, through the afternoon’s hard work he struggled to control himself, to down the bitterness that was rising In his heart. Flora Lee had come back. . . . In her absence he had fought the world methodically, had succeeded beyond his hopes and grown satisfied with his position, seeing little beyond. He had even contemplated an alii anre with one of the De I-ong girls her father, the rich hotel mao, had waxed richer on war speculation and people were forgetting that he had been a headwaiter. Admah might have married Hortense, joined a plu tocracy, lived moderately happy. Then Flora Lee had come to town and called hint the Candy Man. In midafternoon the sweetest smell of Herslnger's sickened him to the core and he went charging out Into the etreet. Head down, he strode through the press of Saturday shop pets. Now and then one would call his name, but Holtz was oblivious. Candy Man! He'd show them what he was. Who were they to call names? Nit wits, four-flitshers, main ma's boys. Half of them ofi the verge of bankruptcy. And look at the Peakes' Nobody carried their accounts any more. Their Inness Street house was for sale, but who wanted to buy the old shell, now that Niggertown was two blocks away? Candy Man, Indeed' Finally he wandered back to Her slnger's and turned the store over to Charley Finch who. from a thin wrist ed boy, wag growing Into a stout and capable If somewhat garrulous citl gen. Adniah mentioned his health, coughed mysteriously, took bis over coat and disappeared In tlie direction of the store garage where his new roadster was resting on Its Illy white tires. , At Dell's landing he caught sight of Uncle Igtfe, his silvery hair blow ing In the river breeze a* he tossed fodder over a fence to make delight ful frenzy amidst a company of little red hogs. Aunt Urpwnie was shoo log chickens out of the (lower beds while her black sertanl carried water from “the pump. As fine a rural scene as any professional melodrama tiat might have devised. Upon eight or Admah Captain I.af* moved his great hag of a body toward the road. •'Well. Ad. How's candy?” •'I reckon I've 'bout lost my taste for bein' Candy Holtz." "You don't say?” Uncle Tafe * c\ es grew round and shrewd as he took an enormous bite from his plug. "I t# done *11 right with tha stores.” persisted Admah, deciding to be frank. "I reckon I could raise right smart o' money If I only found the Investment--” •'Hush:'' I'ncle life's 'whisper rat tied the brlr a brae. Aunt Hrownlc was coming In with the supper dishes. "What ara you two boyaa huahtn about?" alia aakad. "Bualnaaa.” axplalnad t'nrla J.afe maekly. "And now. Brownia, you wouldn't underatand a word of It (To Re Toatlaoed Tomorrow.) Better hun*ry at 80 than lndl (teatIon at 40. _ How to Start the Day Wrong ■ By Briggs _ I AS Th a * . '■( '«<• THE NEBBS home home, sweet sweet home. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hen {Copyright 152 b) | f VouRC an\cevond or a\ f\ oJonFFcrjub rr -A |l/ GUV , PEDRO, GRASB'nG l D\On‘T EVEN -SnEaK I THAT CHECK LAST NVGHT J J UP ON IT - ‘’Tt'oi ACT \ wanted to Show n\e ) laving in one place V UP BE TORE MV GAL / TOR TWO HOURS - \ i Guess avterthevsta«reo S To STACK THE TABLES Cl AND OUR WA\TER BEGAN 1 NAWNIN<k I THOUGHT 'T WAS TIME S0MC30DVJ PAID *T __'J /? I WAS GOvmG to pat TOO fcUT TALK.ED‘ThE >> f MATTER OVER WITH MV SELT AMO CAMETO TwC \ COMCLOS'OM TmAT THE Omlv WAV TO TEACH TOO \ ■TO STOP GRA&3'HG CHECKS IS TO MOT HAviOVOU J TVr k?t Sa LET TH'S fct A LESSOM TO TOO • \ * CXNJrVro rUMWCO \T TOO ACTED MAO — \ AND ATTER TOO QRAo&ty _ t iAnr t iNUfTPOl Am a b\g Goy i am - i own this moose , AND EVERYTHING VN 'T AND HECE 1'^S|TTJW \n The basement to AVO'O tmc gabbiest OCC.T ON EARTH — MY WVEES BROTHER. Qu WOW long WVUL I BE ABLE TO STj*»0 wm^OUT MATQvMONlAL rRVCTVON? 10 2S\S2t OPSTAWS NOW AND TELL MY W»FC, to CW005E BETWEEN OS BOT SHE MVG \CWOOSE E«NIE Barney Google and Spark Plug How About a Dye Guaranteed Not to Run? Drawn for The by Billy D«B«tk ■ RRUVr.INr. I IP FATHFR SEE j,ggs and macc,e in fuei- Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus Dl\ll>VJlliVI Ur r i lUulV u. ». p»t«nt oiiie# pace OF colors IN the SUNDAY bee (Copyright 192s, 1 1Tb AN' AWFUL NiCHT- OH't V/OULOfST maoof: i hope too are Oare \ hate. NOT THlNMN'orcoiN TO CM ^APPOINT OOT WITH. ^THE DE TOUR'S | Cfi l»mi nfhfr mu *4 JERRY ON THE JOB A COMMON COMPLAINT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hobar < Copyright ' ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for ihe Omaha Bee by Hershfield Ho known Human Nalurr. : ~ u 1 um □