JO ELLEN ~ ]
By ALEXANDER BLACK. Wight. i»s«.
v_!____/,
(Continued From Yesterday.)
The train that carried them home
ward, starting across the flatlands,
then boring into the earth with a
eteely clatter, was not altogether
favorable to conversation. It was
stuffed with swaying people, who
screamed to be heard above the rever
berating howl of the car trucks in
the caverns. The composite smell,
dominated by the pungence of per
spiration and damp clothes, the free
contact of bodies, the readjustments
at each station, the bits of drama
when a child fell or a woman dropped
some of her detachable belongings,
all hurt the prospects of a confidence.
But they created excitement, too.
Marty was bound to talk.
He wanted to tell about his position
in the cold storage company. There
were many surprisingly Interesting
things about the business. He recit
ed some of these with great earnest
ness. Jo Ellen’s attention wandered
from the details. There was force
fulness in Marty's way of talking, but
she wished it had been something not
quite like cold storage. Of course,
he wasn’t personally occupied in put
ting hens on ice. He was in the
office, and there was the effect of
his having his own desk. Yet she
found the subject hard to follow in
a crowded subway car. Somewhere
else at some other time it might seem
different.
"Are there any girls there?” she
asked, --s
“Three. One qf them's no good.
Miss Grobe. They're always talking
about firing her. She’s lazy and likes
to start trouble. A snooper. And
she's always making dates on the
'phone. Miss Meisner’s better. A
corking good stenographer. Miss
Callahan's the hest. She’s a peach.”
“What do such girls get?”
Marty would have preferred to ex
hibit a closer familiarity with the em
ploying side, but he was compelled
to be indefinite. "I think," he said,
“Miss Callahan gets about twenty.
She's been there two year* They'll
have to give her more if they want
to keep her. I’m not sure, but 1
think she's engaged.”
"Has she told you?”
"O no! She isn't the kind that tells
much. Jolly, and all that. Lots of
pep, but cagey about her own affairs.
You see, I noticed that she has a
sort of ring. Not exactly a solitaire.
Suspicious though. And there's a
way she looks when they talk about
the boys. Maybe she'd keep her job
after she’s married. They're doing
that a good deal.”
“Are they?”
"Even saying nothing about being
married. A friend of mine says his
wife is still Miss Stokes at her office
(when he calls her up he says, ‘Miss
Stokes, please,’) and she has a young
boss who’s crazy about her. I should
think that would make him nervous.
Wouldn't you? But he only laughs
about it. He thinks it will b* a great
joke when they spring it that she’s
been married a year."
Jo Ellen laughed with a thought of
the young boss. But it didn’t seem
like so very good a joke.
“I wouldn't like it,’’ pursued Marty.
“Of course, it’s nice enough In some
ways."
“You mean the money."
“Yes, the money. Till they get
started. I guess she’s pretty inde
pendent. She wouldn't marry him
unless he said she could keep the job.
They meet every night at the Times
drug store. Sometimes the boss
leaves her with one of the dictated
but-noC-read letters and she’s late.
Then he gets sore. After that they
drop in at the delicatessen for supper
stuff. Except on Friday night. They
go out to dinner on Friday night.
They’re both paid on Friday."
“Are they happy?" asked Jo Ellen.
“Sure. He says they're still honey
moon happy. But T don't like it.
Books sneaking. Don't you fhlnk
so?"
“If she likes it. . .
"Waiting for her. Her with a boss.
And the boss sweet on her. I don’t
like it."
“It’s her affair.”
"And his, too.”
“But more hers," Insisted Jo Ellen.
“Maybe. That’s all right. But she’s
his wife, isn't she?"
“And he made a bargain."
“A bargain. Yes. He made a l>hr
gain. I suppose you could say that.
He ought to have put a time limit
on it.”
“Bike a year."
“l'es. Bike a year. Suppose they
didn't? They'll come to a row. He'll
be saying, 'I want a real honest-to
God wife at home.’ At home.”
"But he'll lose the money," sug
gested Jo Ellen wdth a shading of
malace. Marty left so many openings
for malicious things.
“Money! That isn't everything. Be
sides, he'll be getting a raise."
“And she’ll be home doing the
dishes and can’t marry the boss."
Marty looked appalled.
“Say! That sounds—’’ he began. A
huge man had lunged against Jo El
len’s knees in the process of releasing
a scrambling group at one of the
station, and she didn't hear how it
sounded.
When the train had shrieked its
way under the soil of Manhattan,
Marty was telling of a story he had
read about the war; there was one
thing in it. . . . Two people who loved
each other magnificently had to de
cide which one of them ought to die.
They were on a raft or something
with three cursing sailors, who had
decided that they would all go down
if some one wasn’t chucked over.
Naturally, the lover wanted to be the
one if it had to be the girl or him
self. But there was the. question of
what would become of her,-especially
as a big, hairy beast had looked at
her a good deal. She wanted them
both to slip over together. But it
was very important that he should
get somewhere, or that a secret mes
sage he had in his belt should be
carried through. He took off his belt
and got it on her, pretending Jhat he
could hold her better. Then he sug
gested that the whole party draw lots
to see who should be sacrificed. That
was a thrilling point. It was a hard
thing to do. They were all half un
der the water. It was getting dark.
They broke up some strands of rope
The hairy henst got the bad one and
jumped at the lover without waiting
to curse. They tumbled over to
gether and the beast finally went
down. In the rough weather and
darkness the lover couldn't find the
raft. He swam and floated, caught a
spar, struggled all night, in the early
morning kicked against a reef and at
last got to a shore.”
“How about the girl?" Asked Jo
Ellen. She always thought Marty .
was too slow in getting to the main
point.
“You're always in a hurry,” he
said. "She's coming. She was picked
up—they were all picked up—by a
German submarine, and it looked bad
for her. The lieutenant saw that
she was a beauty all right. I think
they were going to chuck the two
sailors, when along comes a chaser,
and they were saved. The girl tells
the captain of the chaser she just
has to see General So-and-So. 'Can’t
be done,’ he say*. But she got there
She was that kind of a girl."
“But the lover
“O you’d know he’d to get the gen
era! and start his story. And the
general picks up the belt from under
his papers! Can’t you Imagine when
the general pulls the canvas screen
one side and there's the girl?"
“Was it true?” asked Jo Ellen.
“Maybe. It was a story. Some
thriller.”
“Made up. The real war's a great
story.”
“Ah! Yes! They say . . ."
For a time they talked nbnut the
real war. Marty pointed out a head
ing in a newspaper which a bedrag
gled man. squeezed into a corner, was
trying to read. The crowd had
thinned before they came to Dyck
man street, a strident world seemed
to have abandoned when they left
the train that had bored its way
northward through sand and rock and
now cluttered through the sky.
Jo Ellen felt a lassitude in the
home scenes. Marty tingled under
the spell of a warm, romantic unfold
ment that appeared to set him hap
pily at its center. As they drew
near the Hill he realized the wonder
of the venerable trees and a homely
friendliness pervading the green re
cesses. In the last of the twilight the
air was soft, sympathetic, with a kind
of expectant sweetness. By a touch
of the hand he contrived to urge Jo
Ellen along the bath that brought
them to that ridge overlooking the
eastern stretches, a ridge from which,
through naked branches, one saw far
in winter, but in''surnmer could trace
no horizons. Two or three years be
fore, when they were unthinkably
young, they had together discovered
a rock sheif, upholstered with weeds,
overhanging the region of the prime
val spring and the hollow of the
Clove. It was a step down from the
shoulder of the ridge, an intimate
space, a whimsical pause in the hap
hazard gesture of the landscape, ap
pointed, as you would say, for any
chance two that should come to it in
the process of time. They had al
ways called it "the high place."
"Let's sit down for a minute," said
MArty.
To any eye that did not know, it
might have been thp brink of a canon.
Night gave a curious vastness to the
tangled mystery of all that lay be
low. There was an emanation from
the inky shadows, something that
was not the faint warm wind nor the
whispered insect orchestration. It
rose like a stupendous tide, impalpa
ble and delicious, that lifted, lifted . . .
"Isn't It peaceful"’ exclaimed Mart*'
in a subdued voice.
Jo Kllen nodded, her hands clasped
lover her knee*. She could make out
Marty* face when she glanced
obliquely. The moon had arisen, hut
was not to be seen. They were with
in one of Its shadows. In a little
while, Marty stood-out dearly enough
to he compared in detail with Hian
Lamar. She had made the compart
son more than once during th- day,
but the setting had not been right.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
r
New York
--Day by Day
v__-—-—*
By 0. 0. MTNTYRK.
New York, July 4.—Thoughts while
strolling around New York: Three
supper clubs In a row. Salaaming
parasites baring their teeth for tips.
Midnight ladies revealing odd dfcwy
freshness. But how will they look
in the morning?
A dark-skinned prince. Wearing
an Inverness. Weasel sleek young
men. Carrion-eyed old men. And
the brazen gold-diggers showing the
vulcanized artlessness of their ilk.
The haunting refrain of “What'll I
Po." And in the inky shadows the
old woman selling gum and last edi
tions.
A boxer with a purple shadow un
der his left eye. Broadway night
shops dazzle with light. Hosiery.
Millinery. And cosmetics. Night
workers taking the 12 o’clock lunch
hour to visit the movies. Bookmak
ers along the curbs receiving the
whispered bets.
Newsies asleep in doorways. Tor
tured by the heat and flies. A long
haired reformer with an audience of
four. Creaky market carts with lop
sided wheels. 4 woman laughs arch
ly at an old man—and flees up a
pair of steps. No fool like an old fool.
Ponderous thinkers grouping at th^
Algonquin. A man with a chair at
a pawn shop’s hack door. Hurrying
lunehers in the alphabetical quick
lunches. Restless trumpeting of
Hippodrome elephants. The hard
faced loungers about the all night
drug stores.
Lonely private policeman. Always
seeking someone to engage in con
versation. Slinking figures In the
shady hotels. Zip! goes a man-hole
covering. Hope that fellow is not
following me. If he is he's silly. I
once won a 100-yard dash. Cabaret
girls going home. There’s Hassard
Short.
Early morning whistlers. And the
staccato rap of policemen's clubs
Cats sneaking home. And they seem
Just a little weary with life. Nod
ding firemen in their shirt sleeves.
Lights blink out. Milk cans rattle.
Another day.
One of tho most magnificently
staged bits In a musical revue of
the last year in my opinion was
ths "Orange Grove In California"
scene in the Music Box Revue. The
effect was heightened ss the cur
tain rises by flooding the theater
with an orange scent and at the
climax when the orange trees and
crates of orunges take on their
amazing yellow glow there Is a collec
tive gasp that surpassed anything I
have ever heard In the theater.
Georgs Belcher the artist, tells of
the most considerate undertaker', lie
opens the carriage door for the chief
mourner and says: "A lovely day for
a funeral, sir. Just enough breeze
to stir the plumes."
Three robberies havs occurred be
low the famous dead line at Fulton
street during the year. The order
that crooks should not pass the dead
line was given by Inspector Byrnes
in the 80’s and was rigidly observed
for many years. It was a sort of un
written law there should be no In
vasion of that vast treasure trove of
gold in Wall street and diamonds In
Maiden Lane and woe betide the
criminal who trespassed ft. When
Byrnes died in 1910 ths law had
never been broken.
Ouch! Benjamin De Casseres, nov
elist, favors the league that spon
sors married women retaining their
maiden names Snya he: "As man Is
the ruler of this planet, and always
will he so long as he la woman's phy
sical and financial auperlor—for mus
cle and mammon are the princes of
this world—the Inferior should look
on the names of men as a privilege,
not a gift. No man should Hllow his
wife to take bis name until she can
prove she Is a fit mother for his chil
dren and that she is a mental and
physical complement." Somehow we
imagine Ben’s breakfast disagreed
with him or something
(Copyright. 1124
How to Start the Day Wrong By Briggs
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Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess
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