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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (April 7, 1925)
I t Continued from Yfllwdli*. “But that's where you come in. We've shifted him to a sell with a Utltograph In it, and you're going in and have a chat with.him. Pump him dry, see? Find out all you ran. And remember that I'll be listening to you as well as to him: so don’t try to stall or help him cover it. And what's most important, get him to talk in English. I'm going to get the truth on this case, and I’m going to get it now.” “You mean to use me in order to incriminate Ghopal Bose, then? . . . Well, Mr. Smith, I’ll tell you right now, that you're going to do nothing wt tie sort. I'm as eager to clear this matter up as anybody, but I shall not break the bonds of friendship for any liody at any time." "Now, don't get on a high horse with a high hat. You're no better than the rest of ’em. and you’re go ing to do what l tell you. Kook here'” Smith pulled from an Inside pocket the cross word puttie which hail been slipped under Mies Minty's door. “Soe that? Now, are you going to do as I tell you, or aren't you?” "Where did that come from?” Chal fonte parried. “Where it came front doesn’t mat ter at present. What matters now is where you’re going if you don’t do what we tell you to do. Now, under stand, you're not to speak one word In Hindu language to Ghopal Bose. You're to talk English all the time. He's not going to know about the dictograph at all, see? You're just going in there and get the dope.” "You seem very sure. Mr. Smith.” "I'm just as sure that you're going as that I am standing here." At this moment the door down the corridor opened and a man raced after Smith. "Phone, Mr. Smith. Very important. Says his name's Kushing ton.” • "You wait,” Smith commanded. Burke and Khall'onte waited—for five minutes, for ten. At last Smith came hack. "Say. this thing s getting loo much for me. The jeweler says this isn't Emily Dunseath's emerald at all." Smith wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Lushington says he took the emerald to the Jeweler, and the jeweler called him Just a few minutes ago and asked him to come right over. Mrs. Dunseath's emerald was perfect, he says, and this one has a slight flaw in It. It's luminous, like hers, but like I say. it's got a slight flaw in it, and also it weighs a frac tion of a carat move than the Dun reath jewel, and is cut just a little different in one part. Say, what do you know about that?" "Maybe it's an imitation,’’ Burke offered. "Yes, that’s what I thought. Lush ington says it isn’t, though. He'd thought of it himself, and so had the jeweler; but they’ve gol every expert in town on it, and they all agree that it's genuine, but not Mrs. Dunseath's. Kunkle & Nathan set It for Mrs. Dun seath years ago, and every big jew eler in town had seen it at one time or another, and Kunkle had written an article for a magazine, only Mrs. Dunseath wouldn’t let him publish it. He had all the measurements, and pictures and weight. I.ushlngton says there simply can't be a mistake about it. Now—now what the deuce do you make out of that?” “The first thing to make out of it,” chalfonte said, “might be this; that Ghopal Bose may not have stolen the emerald you’re after. I'm Inclined, myself, to believe he’s innocent.” "Innocent—innocent like a wolfij You—you go in. Chalfonte. and getj what you can." Smith was not order ing now; he was pleading. “The situation is somewhat altered. . . All right. I'll go. Where is Ghopal?” "This way.” And Burke led him down the long corridor, where men sat quietly behind steel gratings. Some turned their faces to the wall as he passed; others grinned brazenly out at him. Then they descended n slippery, dank-smelling staircase, and passed a row of empty cells. A wait ing ^turnkey opened a steel door. Rurke pushed Chalfonte forward and the door clanged shut behind him. As the door shut, all light seemed to go with It: and the clang rever berated in Chalfonte’s ears and nerves. He shivered. Then, as his vision grew used to the somi-da>'UneRS. he made out the figure of Ghopal Bose seated on the edge of a steel bunk. Ghopal regard ed him with dark and steady eyes. Drawn with suffering as his face was, it still held a dignity that had been slowly formed by centuries of eastern wisdom. Two Occidental nights might touch it, but they could not destroy it. "I hope it hasn't been too hard, Ghopal," Chalfonte began. Ghopal shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing Is too hard for one who has behind him centuries of calm fath ers. It is only’ when one forgets that things are hard. Here, in the dark | ness, I have remembered, and they have not known what to do. It is when one is not wise that violence is the chosen way. It is only when our intelligence and wisdom desert us, 01 are unequal to the task before us, that we resort to volence. On Satur day, I forgot; I struggled. Since then, these men have forgotten—if they ever knew.” .“Well, that's probably putting it mildly, Ghopal.” Chalfonte wondered what Burke would be making of this Oriental niisdom. “If only my English had not de serted me. I might have made matters clear on Saturday,” Ghopal resumed. "Yes, but can't you tell me now, and in English, all there Is to be told? I’m convinced that you're Innocent, Ghopal. I think it will take very little to convince the authorities.” “Yes, I will tell you, though in tell ing you. I may say some things which will wound you. In part, it concerns your father—“ Chalfotite started. “I’ve been sus pecting as much,” he said. “T have been trying to remember something my father said when I was only a boy, something I overheard. But go on. You can probably help me to remember, and—” chalfonte stopped. He had forgotten that they were be ing heard over the dictograph. CHAPTER X. Tile Eyes of the God. "Jn the beginning, then, you must know that the region where we met in India—my home—Is a region vis ited but little by Europeans. You’ve often spoken about the unprovoked hostility with which my people met you. That was Just after you crossed the high range of the Himalayas that separates our country from the rest of India. ’’That hostility was not unprovoked, but was just hate—If hate Is ever justified—of a people who had been betrayed, and of a people who In con sequence had struggled In vain to appease the wrath of an angry god. “Yqu may have been told by your father the story of this god of the Himalayas and his high, sacred shrine, though I doubt it. “Just when the worship of him began. I do not know, for when our earliest records begin, centuries ago. his shrine was already the‘center of worship. Our religion, In this moun tain fastness, Is a religion for men. Each man of the tribe worships at the shrine once, and ever after he worships the god In his own heart. The shrine It a cavern of Ice, hidden far away In the heart of the Hima layas, many days of agonizing travel from the place where you and T met. Snow and ice block tire trail to the shrine In all the month* of the year but one. At the time of the greatest heat, the trail clears sufficiently so that wlh coutrage and the favor of the god It may be attempted. “In that season of each year, the joutl)* of the trll>e who are entering manhood make their preparations and separately—set forth on the pil grimage to the god." Ohopal's eyes, sunken with suffer ing, met the gaze of Chalfonte stead IIy. .’’Your western civilization has dona much to give me sophistication, and has taught me to smile at many beliefs as naive and childish. But somehow It. has never been able to efface the Imprint of my Journey to the shrine. Even now. In this place. It comes hack over me—the first ter rific clbnh to dizzying heights, and then the trail to the cavern, a trail that winds around the sides of stu pendous precipices, the depths of which lie veiled In cloud and mist, a trail a. hands breath wide and cov ered with ice.' The crashing of ava lanches in that tegrlfic silence, the silence of eternity. the cold, the ex haustion, the liungeiv— all these have never yet fulled to claim each year at least one youth of the. tribe. There were idghts when sudden snowstorms roared down the mountainsides, and I wondered If the warm season lmd not yet really opened. There were dawns when f woke to still splendors of color such ns the plainsman never dreams of. "And there came, the place where I ho trail ends, and I knew only the general direction In which I was to go. Only that far did the work of men who had gone before me, help me on. The last and hardest part of the way to one's God. 1 suppose, one must find alone. But I found it—at last I found If—when it teemed thut the cold and the white splendor of eternity had become the very color of my soul, with all the Impurity and weakness driven out. In such state. I reached the cavern, where for cen turies the youth of pur tribe hnve found the image of our god, an Image of stone, squat, hurfehed. drab—as existence Is. But In Its emerald eyes glowed a wonder of green and lam bent flames the color of life thut springs up forever new, tranformlng the world. (Te tie ConMnaed Tnaiarrsw.) Men are creatures who cut down great trees to make room for a city and then plant little aapllngs to beuu tlfy it.- Sandusky Register. On the Atlantic -*Day by Day— >.—# By O. 0. M”INTYRE. On the Atlantic, April 6.—This morning I was up to watch the sun rise. The sea Inspires me as noth ing else. The blood of piracy must have run In my ancestors. I dream of them bounding from bowsprit to bowsprit with rings In their ears and knives in their teeth. There was a calm save for the i hythmic plough! plough! plough! like v. et wash against the washing board. The sun was gilding tlie clouds and pouring a slender stream of phos phorescence on the dancing foam. Far off was a tiny puff of smoke from u tramp steamer bound for heaven knows where. A few sailors were out pulling at iheir early morning tobacco quids. They are silent, taciturn men. They may stand huddled together for an hour without a word. Modern Inven tions have deprived them of much ro mance of sailing but the romance of i he sea goes on forever. 1 watched one deck swabber. Tie had the build of a corsair. Despite the cold he was barefoot and his hairy chest was bare. His beard had lioen stained a vivid red. There was a savage like vanity- about him in spite of his humble task. i tried to engage him in conversa tion but he was as shy as a mouse ■ qd answered only in monosyllables. My language was not bis. His was tfie staccato language of the dead and gone days: "Down with your helm! Haul sheets! Hoist topsails!" The breakfast horn sounded. And t heard a little boy in a cabin say: "Mother is a parade coming?" I went down to see the dog passengers. There are tfnly two, Seallngh&tns, named Craig apd Dtnny; and they seemed to be standing the voyage well. Bless ’em. The Ocean Times amuses me. Here is Its leading news today: "Cairo: Three Zaghlullst candidates have or ganized a relief fund for victims of -he Assouan flood.” That is hot stuff. I don't imagine a passenger aboard knew until tills morning there had leen a flood in the Assouan, The most pathetic person on board t•, me Is one of those buck leeth de butantes from New York who Is anx ious to be seen, admired and petted. And nobody is doing it. The young page who answers the bells on my deck is 17 years of age and has crdnsed the Atlantic. 71 times. He came from a family of sea going folk. His mother is a steward on a Cunarder. His father is on n long Mediterranean cruise. Two older brothers are In the British navy. Silly rumors scatter over every ship. This time It was the sinister whisperings of dreaded typhus. You beard of It everywhere—In the lounge, smoking robins an on prome nade decks. The ship surgeon tells me the only passenger laid tip Is p man who cracked his toe against a steamer trunk. T have been sitting at my type writer In a rather agreeable flame of mlnil. The boat Is steady and New York Is only four days away. Then ! happened to glance at a curd on the wall above my desk. It reads: "In > ase of emergency, passengers will be directed by the crew for embarka tion in the open bonis." And now a perfectly good day Is mined. Irving Berlin would probably ael a kick out of an Incident on the promenade deck today. A Bengalese passenger wtts whistling his latest tune. ‘"All Alofie.” Tonight the moon rode high richly silvering the whole expanse of the eea. On the second class deck I saw a bare headed priest' stand et the Fall for st least a half hour, lost In reverie. Then he crossed himself end Ills lips mumbled In prayer. A prayer, *• doubt, for those who have gone tfoma to the see In ships {Copyright ) People Who Put You to Sleep—Number Ninety-Four. By Rube Godibrt The oolfgr NNho HAKe^ A* COMPLETE SURREY OP THE GROU/0|b. Serose each PUTT AMb THE70 HISSE.S. WMfeRe *** COJLbM’T 1 ' c»fc> He -srubY / DROP A uttl€ > ^ ^ l CINJIL F.MGlM- /( UNJETRPKL IM / ^ t-tubv-^ ^ ,1 THE NEBBS AT IT AGAIN. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hew / r _ /why OONT YOU GET AN EASY /OttOe'PEE WEE AS THERE IS NO ONE IN /and sit oown comfortably and gaze W, live and breathe! nIiEwhoLkedt telling [ /UPON the place that is NAMED in YOUR k/stand here for AWHILE^ SotJjFAnOUT IT^FA /j \ HONOR-THEY'RE GOING TO ERECT A GRANITE \ AND LET PEOPLE SEE YOU Bif^iVruFADc, tuat ' STATUE OF YOU-THEY'LL MAKE THE TALKING TO ME-IT WILL dOnIt LlSTENAN EMPTY / ^ NECK ANO THE REST OF THE [oOW AUOT OF GOOD> , ^ ^EN^NEMPTY , >OU CAN FURNISH y IV. IM TOO SlG ANNERS MAKE A / THE HEAL _ X I ^JIG MAN YOURE rT^Yi, A G,ANT ^ (Copyright, iSr25. by Th< Bell Syndicate. Inc) RRINniNr. IIP FATHFP see jiggs and maggie in full Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus DmllVjlllVj \jr r r\ 1 niLXX U. S. Patent Olfle* PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE (Copyright 10251 -v •Vf COULT : now i would L'KE TO ^ SOME one: J 1 Find that \ KET : r—' jll_din ABIE THE AGENT honesty is the best policy. Drawn for The 0maha B~ *>y Her«hfieid /'ape you going To the Fourteenth REG> NAEKJt* HRR80R HOSPITAL BEfcFuNb A* f l HEAM>YOu MAKE 1 A"*T frefT A Y Yo Ml A FAVOR * \ YOU 60 Ml A FAVOR ‘ “ CENT, HONEST. bON T TEU. AlsY&ODv) To© » DON'T mu l WAS OUST i ASKTD YOU FDR An'I&ODY THAY l BWPFlN.fr i»U MOKBi "• J, COUIDWY QiVI PFONY OF PEOPll ^-'slCjXl \ iY Tfe YOU " TILLIE, THE TOILER. By "'estover . | TMA-t BRILLIAWT youwo ATTORNty USTfcM, MAd . DID*”t NO ' — I Clarence dflaaicev whom » hav^ you evEt ste this cleat, arout EWOAOAO TO FlCHT THAT $0 OOO ATTQfcMEy THE 80 HIM IM 7HC l CLAIM A3AIMST ME IS COMlMQ UP fi TO 7H6 OFFICE - WAIT AMD MAKC ^ ^ VUF*JSl ^ AW APPOIWTM6MT FOR- HIM V —ji/ *1% Hf v « _#“ I Barney Google and Spark Plug SPARKY TAKES THE AIR IN GREAT SHAPE. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBedt Xfclt ttAVNVF .THAI St* OAT WAVE POCR tPELLEP ) VUNSS** N'kt \nm * \r. sour o* a r*o »« vcu lock mut, / ...Tf"?,!,’, HALT stomtAvt to iMfc SI* oat a suffshimo ' c «tv.t_ HACV. ,TOLJ KMOW M 5, i ARME NIAN AN F MOUftftNCE COMTE ST yuE, OOTTA POT N\G«.«: f* ANTTMlNtx ELSE AMU „ SOMO FAT ON \E AMT OF Tme MCR^E S UtMt I Noil OR VCAK LIKE. TutV LL. STAMU T> >VL <iAFF , RU,UT AVi/A-t Tut ,--s CCMNtatet V «(>, , JOCKtT CLUO VIRtS / '6*a off *tt*e l»vt R ft eiAroir; c » OWtE aPrtR* V- . ^HT<B-VV" ^ PLUG A GC NC - lX CNt« HWaUT MOW • THAT * ■* 5 CGO aint th 't»- couGmco . at ,—