> • <
(Continued From Yesterday.)
IV.
He did not break into the path an if
to intercept her. He seemed to know
that she would pause and he drew up
beside her, hat in hand, with a look
that rather repeated her own way of
verifying an earlier impression, nave
that his look wan morn than curious.
There was a glint in It.
"Seem* like trailing you,” he said.
*T did nee you go.”
"Why should you trail me?” she
asked. She was still In the heat of
the resentment aroused by Emma
Trnub, and there was a fresh resent
ment In which she felt accused of
a complicity. He could think she
had rushed off to meet him.
"I wanted . . .”
Was it a pretended embarrassment?
She had built up a picture of him
that had no possible diffidence in it.
Yet here he was. fumbling.
"I wanted to thank you,” he said.
‘No harm in that."
"T didn’t do much.”
"O yes, you did. You sure were a
good sport.”
"1 didn't tell.” She wanted to get
this out, whatever happened. She
might run away in a moment and it
must be said first.
He nodded. "Of course not. I guess
we know who did blab. Poor devil,
she was frightened."
"No,” protested Jo Ellen. "She
• didn't tgll. I saw her afterward."
"Same thing, though. After see
ir.g her he thought he knew. He
wouldn't have been so sure later on.
Anyway, 1 saw him coming—strolling
along. The other chance looked bet
ter than that. Never thought of the
luck of you and the boat. But that
isn't what I wanted to tell you.”
Jo Ellen was silent.
"I wanted to tell you that I wasn't
lying to you in a tight place. The
police crowd had me wrong.”
“You mean, you hadn’t done—"
"It wns another man. I knew ft
would come out. When the time was
right I went straight to them and laid
my cards down. They're a dirty
hunch. It might not have gone. But
1 was clean on the thing. It was a
little spite higher up. Do you be
lieve me?"
"What difference does that make?”
He turned his eyes away from her
foita. moment and thrust a fist against
New York
••Day by Day
» , - ---
By O. O. MTNTVRE.
New York, July 9.—During their
college day* Ring Lardner and Riley
, Wilson, another famous wit, hired out
with Dr. Casper's Kurako Medicine
show. Lardner was a sort of advance
man and Wilson did a black face
turn.
Dr. Casper was a picturesque fig
ure In wide chamois colored hat, rat
tlesnake belt and patent leather
^oots. His remedy was one of those
famous cure alls—for the lungs,
stomach, kidneys, heart, rheumatism,
fits and fistula, and alee removed
tapeworms.
He had a great forensic flair In
extolling Its virtues. The medicine
was a product of nature—the herbs
and roots that abounded along the
purling streams and country hill
side. Nature had provided Its won
ders for her children, but It was
Dr. Casper who brought it to them.
One evening Dr. Casper was In the
midst of his panegyric. "Ladees and
gentlemen,” he was saying. “Out
yonder under the clustered stars
caught In the silken web of night
lests the fruitful marvels of Mother
Earth. They have lain dormant until
Dr. Casper furrowed the peaceful hills
and valleys.
"I have taken from the roots of
tiees the universal panacea—the
crowning catliolicon—and brought
It to you. I am not here to sell it,
nor am I here to give It away. I
am here to advertise one of nature’s
most powerful remedies for the ills
of mankind. It grows In yonder for
est—”
At this juncture a heavy pall of
smoke swept down from a hill and
permeated the medicine tent ahow.
The audience was plunged Into a fit
of coughing. There was a forest fire
two miles away.
Wilson came out of his dressing
room and accosted Lardner. "What's
all this smoke about?” he Inquired.
“O,” said I^ardner with noncha
lance, "It's just one of Dr. Casper's
drug stores burning up.”
Lcs Copeland, the vaudeville pian
ist, who has been In Paris running
an American cabaret, was in a the
atrical club recently when he came
across Corse Payton, self-styled the
world's worst actor, and former
entrepenuer of the old atyle ten,
twent and thlrt melodrama.
"How are you, Corae?” asked Cope
land.
"Fine, Les, fine.” was the reply.
”T am going hack In the ahow busi
ness very shortly."
"flood,” said Copeland. “I haven't
heard a shot fired since you quit.”
There Is another actor who had
been toying with the grape longer
Ilian was good for him. He had
made a nuisance of nimaelf around
several theatrloel elula* and finally
hia frienda carted him away to a
Turklah bath. After they had put
him in the ateam room they con
calved the Idea of putting a little
ball of tar on each cheek. While
he was sleeping they got some feath
ers and stuck In the tar. In about
an hour the actor In the throeg of a
mighty perspiration awakened and
naturally felt of his cheeks. He
rushed to a looking glass and In
spected himself.
"Whew!" he exclaimed. “In hell,
and a Dlrd!”
Spooning In New York Is difficult.
The parks are too well policed and
the bus tops are open to public gaze.
Some spoonera have found the only
place left is the Orand Central sta
tion. The beaux may begin at Track
J (trains to Bucyrus, Yellow Springs
and Akron, O.) and proceed to say
goodbye to her all the way to th~
20th Century (Albany, Cleveland and
i "hlcago). If that ie not enough to
satisfy the fond lovers they can pro
ceed to the lower level and line up in
front of the locals to Poughkeepsie,
Harmon, IlartsrtRle and where not.
Also If one feels too ftromlscuous at
the Orand Central there la the
Pennsylvania station, which has
heaven knows how many different
levels.
(Cerrrlffht. 1114.)
Ithe berk of ■ tree beside him. "A fel
low might care, you know. He
[ might.” He faced her again. "Sup
, pose you had been in my fix. Wouldn't
you care?”
1 "I don't know.” answered Jo Ellen.
: "If anybody didn't believe me, I think
- I’d let them go ahead.”
"Maybe you wouldn't If you—” He
! kicked at the roots of the tree,
wrenched his hat. then astonished Jo
Ellen by laughing softly. “If anybody
had told me I'd do this—you never
know what you will do, do you?"
"I don't understand you,” said Jo
Ellen.
"That'e Just like other people. I
thought you were different from other
people—”
“You didn’t come all the way over
here to tell me that, did you?”
"That's the funny thing. I did
And I feel like a fool. Does that
mean that you are different?”
Jo Ellen looked at him frankly.
"I made a secret out of meeting you.
Guess I sort of promised that. Some
times I wish I hadn't.”
The movement she remembered
came Into his lips; with it came a
sign of his being checked, as if there
might he more than one answer. In
the end his annoyance was not hid
den.
"If all of Inwood has to know, go
to it.”
Jo Ellen's instant gesture of turn
ing away from him had equally quick
effect in his half-extended hand.
"Excuse that, won’t you?” He
moved a step. “You caught me there,
and I was rough. Do anything you
think's fair."
"Fair . . . ?”
"To me. Is it the fun of telling
it, or what?"
"A secret's a kind of a nuisance
when there's no use for it. I don’t
think you'd care now . . . when no
body’s chasing you.”
He had a hard smile for this.
"I see,” he said. "You think I have
no feelings when the police are out
of it.”
"I mean I'd think better about you
if it wasn't secret.”
He looked puzzled, but added quick
Iy, "In that case the secret's off.”
"I don't mean that I’m going to
rush and tell it. It’s only—”
"I know,” he said. "Your thinking
better about me's the important thing
—to me, I mean." He halted with this
much, because he detected again the
movement of leaving him. "Why do
you want to get away?”
"You ask a lot of questions,” de
dared Jo Ellen, standing very
straight. The movie director was now
using a megaphone, and the voice
rolled up from behind these two with
a peculiar booming intensity. The
echo of the sounds seemed to quiver
In Jo Ellen.
"A quetsion is what all this is
about. I came up here to ask you a
question."
He spoke with a quiet that made
Jo Ellen uneasy. She could not have
said why, but it had the feel of some
thing that threatened; and she knew
that she would never forget the way
he looked: handsomer than the pic
ture (hat came whenever she had
thought about the meeting In the
empty house; with a kind of bright
powerfulnes that showed in every
movement of him.
. . to ask you a question,” he re
peated.
"Haven’t you asked it?”
"No."
“Maybe you'd better," said Jo El
len, "if you came up here to do it.”
"What started me was wanting to
know whether you were going to keep
on thinking about me as a dim
crook."
"I don’t know what I’m going to
think.”
"What do you think now?"
"You're foolish to ask me that."
"Why?"
“Because I think very likely there's
something wrong about you.”
“Will you give me a chance to prove
that I'm not a crook. If that’s what
you mean?”
"Give you . . .
"I know. You must think I'm 1
either crooked or crazy. I’ve done
a lot of things, but this is the craziest.
It didn't seem so crazy when I first
thought about it—about coming: to
find you. And you stand there block
ing me. That’s it. J never met a
girl that—you Just got me that day
And that'll make you laugh. If it
had come right this time, [ suppose
I might have said that so it wouldn't
be a flop. You win. You've had
fun with me, as if—"
"Goodby,” said Jo Ellen.
He stepped into the path with a
gesture that implied a controlled w-ish
to touch her.
"Damn you!” he flung out. "How
did you do it? How did you—”
Jo Ellen belt a burning at her tern
pies. “You're talking like a crook
now."
“That’s the way. A crook. Tell
them all. crook—who came around
crying like a kid—wanting—you'll he
square up against It trying to figure
what he did want. A crook. Give
them that."
She slipped past him. He swung
about and stood tightly, watching her
leaping pace. She did not look back.
V.
If he could have seen her on the
porch, peering, for the length of a
dozen seconds. like a nervous bird; if
he could have seen her behind win
dows, front and back, at a mirror in
the living room, in the kitchen gulp
ing a cup of water; if he could have
seen her rocking rapidly In the old
est chair, with eyes fixed and hands
wandering, some of the mystery would
have gone out of » his speculations,
thougli perhaps a deeper mystery
would have entered In,
That period before the family came
back was short in minutes, but long
in emotional excursions. Jo Ellen
wanted to think, but feelings came,
crowding one another In a disorderly
scramble. She ran a second time to
the mirror, to remind herself of what
It was he looked at when he stood
there squirming and fumbling. When
he could take hold of her. he knew
what to do and how to do it. When
he couldn't take hold of her, he was
stupid He had come to Inwood on
the chance of seeing her in some wav
such a§ the way that happened. If it
were in a atory the ahort of It would
have been that he had fallen in love
with her—fallen in love with her on
a few minutes’ acquaintance, or when
he came to think about it, which
would be a Billy thing to believe. And
yet he hadn't quite said this. He
only tried to any It. Maybe it wa«
true that a liar would have said It
better. Maybe not. If ahe had helped *
him he might have said It so well
that It would have sounded altogether
like a trick.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow >
THE NEBBS THE SAME OLD STORY. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess
/WHNTS THUS'? e>\U-V. THKTX
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1ROLL IN WEALTH AND MAvJE ME JK\
•WRAPPED INGlNGWAMXOO'RC^y I
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^ • ___° I _ • (Copyright im)_
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To GET A HUNDRED AND PIETY
Bucks To6etmer roR sparky-*
ENTRY FEE IN THE • T' SONE
STAKES NEXT SATURDAY -
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JERRY ON THE JOB THE SAFEY FIRST ENGINEER. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hobar* I
■ ■ ' r __ __ (Copyripht 1914) I
ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield
Friendly Advice.
I ■ \ HEAR VY'& QOlNG T& BE
•A INTERESTING LECTURE! W^t1
1 QOT ONE SEAT IN THE LAST j
RCtO ANt> ONE IN THE RlRST , ~~
Rovu - naturally, 111 sit /&$%,
V^he First
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