JO ELLEN 1
By ALEXANDER BLACK, copyright, 11:4.
_1_-_ ,
(Continued Fmm YeMerdaj.)
Whichever way you looked at the
thing It was astonishing, astonishing
enough to keep your face hot and
quivery. Anybody coming home and
seeing you would know that some
thing astonishing had happened, and
esi>ect you to tell all about it, and
that would be as hard as rehearsing
in the movies. You couldn't make
anybody understand how you could
listen to him at all If you even
thought he might he a crook. And
they wouldn't know how he looked,
and about the eyes, or the voice
either. Keally there were two voices;
perhaps there were two of him in
other ways.
There was only one of Marty. Did
the two of Stan Lamar mean that one
of them was not real?
Jo Ellen wondered if there were
two of herself. Did Stan Lamar go
’ away thinking there were two of her?
If it was the one of her he met In
the Simms house and afterward in
the boat who "got” him, how differ
ent was the one he met today? If she
was really the same on both days,
wasn't it likely that he was really the
same on both days? Was the differ
ence in what happened to you?
She went back to Emma Traub's
remark—about a crook’s woman. Was
a man only one kind to his woman?
There was another thing. Emma evi
dently didn't mean wife. Woman and
wife. Wife was a good deal easier
to understand. Woman was a lot
more complicated. There was a sim
ple way you got to he wife. "His
woman.” That was rather terrific.
Smashing, it was hard to see how
that could happen. . . .
Imagine what fTnele Den. for in
stance. would say about "his
woman.” People didn't talk about
such things at all—unless they were
like Emma Trauh. Anyway, there
v.as a sadness in it. When you
thought about it, there was a gray
color, with fiery flashes, as well as
a sound that made you shrink and
wonder. . . .
All this time something was shin
ing through. She had felt it when
she got out of bed in the morning.
She saw it wehn she was watching
the actors. It came to her when
Lamar was there, and it made a dif
ference now when she knew that
presently the family would be hack
and everything would seem to be as
it was before.
She felt a lot older.
The feeling began when her mother
accepted without comment the joke
about adventure, and suddenly there
was a wide horizon. It was a strange
ly stronger feeling now. Of course,
it was bound to come to you.' Mostly
it came not because of what hap
pened to you, but because of what
you saw when you looked out.
/------>
New York
--Day by Day
-.----'
By O. O. M’INTYRE.
New York, July in.—It I" in that
purplish gray hour when -New York
stirs sluggishly in the last throes of
sleep that the underworld peeps
through. The first flush of dawn
brings out the world of aliases and
the great army—drug addicts and
those with prison pallor.
Around Times Situate you see them
shuffling hurriedly along iti the
shadows, hats pulled down and coat
collars turned up. Some are seeking
dope runners for Iheir daily supply
and others strong black coffee in the
white enameled all night lunches.
It is a polyglot crew. They know
that tin; hour when the great shift
of police and detectives is in the mak
ing they are safer—the stern eyes of
the law is a bit foggy-. And so they
creep out to begin just another day.
There are yeggmen w-hosc ability
r; centralized in sensitized fingers.
There are men who call detectives
"dicks, sneakers and flatties," and
the women “molls" an 1 "ribs." Their
g . it is cither one of suspicious slow
n- rs or nervous haste.
No i imaraderie exists among them.
Jjjt-b nian is lor himself. Criminality
has stamped them either with eyes
that twinkle with cunning or mouths
with a cruel droop. It is a ghostly
outline of the meiropolis at Its worst.
Criminal hunters say the old adage
proves true among criminals. Birds
of a feather, flock together, although
they may not fraternize. Times
Snuare is fringed on either side by
shady hotels and that is where they
congregate.
I rg (tore-: in the neighborhood do
a heavy business in brontidic coneoc
t.ur.n for the troubled conscience of
ll.i underworld niai.es sleep difficult
.Satisfying slumber is moribund and
veropal is the popular panacea.
I am led to believe that next to
criminals writers have the greatest
difficulty in sleeping. I only know
two who are not sleepless suppliants
of Morpheus. The criminals says It 1*
his conscience anil the writer usually
points to the fact that every man
who has achieved in literature and
art has been more or less neurotic.
He will point to Tolstoy. Nietzsche,
Schopenhauer, Mussc-t, Verlaine, W:
ner, Beethoven nd infinitum. My own.
experience has been different. Sleep
etimes easily and time arc never In
eomnious moments except twice a
year when I awaken with a scream.
It Is always the same nightmare. I
am walking up Second street In Gal
llpolls, O. It Is Raster Sunday and
I am the motif of a sartorial drama
But I glance Into drawn curtained
window of Harry Frank’s clothing
store and discover I have neglected
my trousers and tinderthings. Across
in the park are the members of the
ladies' guild holding a basket picnic
I know a man also who conxc:
sleep by counting sheep hurdling a
fence. He achieves Ills desire, but
invariably as the last sheep goes over
he decides to follow and trips—and
lends kerplump out of bed on tin
floor.
Two of the friends have the gift of
sleep In a remarkable manner. They
ars Joseph A. Moore, financial man
ager for W. R. Hearst. and Will Hogg,
the Texas oil man. Rach Is a big ex
•tutlve and works at top speed, but
at any time they feel so disposed they
can bury themselves In sleep for 1<i
or 13 minutes and awaken refreshed
Incidentally 1 long to read the ai
count of an electrocution that docs
r.ot contain “the prisoner slept will
and ate a hearty breakfast." Thl
may be true, but I doubt It. If I
were going to the electric chair
Cries of "Speed the day!"—I think I
would spend the last hours trying t<>
get the knocks out of my knees for
the final mareh. Fright Invariably
gives my knees n gelatine effect.
*42aa*rlah4. 1*24 * ,
VI.
Perhaps tlie grandmother was large I
lv responsible for this feeling of being
older, which outlasted the night, and
other nights; and Jo Ellen found that
there could lie something not alto
gether comfortable about it. It took
oft a sort of weight, but also it kept
asking you, asking you. tremendously.
Grandmother was to have stayed
two weeks, hut postponed her going
idle went downtown to give New York
a look-over. Incidentally, she had
met some of the people known to her
by business correspondence. New
York was pretty old-fashioned in some
ways, yet oddly, it was less old-fash
ioned in fashions than in other things.
She admitted that in*jazzing up hats
they gave the coast a hard run. Some
dealer had thought she might be very
useful in handling western buyers,
and his advances were under consid
eration.
"Lord knows. I think it’s an awful
town,” said Mrs. Bogert. "If they
could get a live man from the coast
to run it . .
Uncle Ben suggested that the place
was full of men from the coast.
"Let them put one of them In to
run it—and catcli him before he's
spoiled."
"You seem to think—” Uncle Ben
ventured.
"O you’re spoiled,” declared his
mother. "They’ve got you tiled down.
I’ll bet in your job you’re as meek
as a movie actor.”
Uncle Ben bristled. "Ah! but don't
you see, that’s organization. That’s
the way things are put over. Sup
pose those actors we were looking at
—say, they haven't made an I. W. W.
of you out there, have they?”
"Don’t talk nonsense. New York's
just slow. Full of ruts, and meek!
people crawling in them. I tell you,
it’s about the meekest burg—the onl>
real men I’ve sdhn are the traffic
oops."
"All Irish," said Bogert.
“Be thankful for that," his mother
retorted.
Bogert clenched a fist. "Damned
good actors, when they have a direc
tor.”
“You say that as if you were
mighty wise. Being dlrected’s exact
ly what they don't like. Anyway,
they're keeping the punch."
"Oil, quit your scrapping," appealed
Jo Ellen’s mother.
To convince his critics that he was
ouite in shape to go back to the office,
Bogert turned from various tinkerings
to an ambitious extension of the
porch. Airs. Bogert was not greatly
impressed by her son's abilities as
a carpenter.
"If I must say it, Ben. things you
make always seem wabbly.”
"I don't pretend to be a profes
sional,” snorted Bogert.
"I’d say you had a rather sketchy
style, that’s all. You’re probably ail
right on your proper job or they
wouldn't be so looney to have you
back.”
"On my proper job.” said Bogert,
"I’m a wonder."
It chanced that the Aionday morn
irg which saw Bogert off at 8 o'clock
upon his old itinerary brought Grand
mother Bogert’s announcement of her
intention to stay in New York. Since
both Jo Ellen and her mother were
astonished, it became evident that
they had not taken seriously the ex
pressions of debate which had been
dropped from time to time.
"Heaven knows the town’s no at
traction," said Alartha Bogert. "A
horrible mixup. No idea about itself.
Alost idiotic ciimate in the world. But
there seems to be a chance of some
thing rather good in a business way."
"Great,” cried Josephine Itewer.
"You'll stay and grow up with the
country!"
"None of your sarcasms." grinned
Alartha. "I've got twenty years of
hustle in me. Maybe thirty."
✓Jo Ellen added her squeal of excite
ment. "There are terrible temptations
here. Grandma!"
"You he quiet!" snapped the grand
mother. "See that you mind your
steps when you get to work."
"We ll face the old town together,"
ventured Jo Ellen. It was another
experimental observation, accompanied
Ivy scrutiny of her mother. Nothing
unpleasant happened.
VII.
When it had actually begun. Jo El
It n's business school enterprise had
less of novelty than she bad expect'd
It was, after all, hut another sort
or going to school, and since she was
able to enter before the end of August
the separation from the old Broadway
sc-hoolhouse brought no spectacular
moment.Yet there was a pronounced
effort of going forth. The old school
lay across lots. The new held a
prophecy of downtown and noisy vis
tas of adventure, where life was dif
ferent. It escaped being another
Broadway school by a short turn
from the corner. The look of if left
situation to seem unimportant, for II
was but a floor in a shabby building
given over largely to apartments. Jo
Ellen stepped off her train at One
Hundred and Twenty fifth street,
where you see Uiversidc Drive inak
ing its stet' straddle of the crosstown
thoroughfare to the Hudson, and
where you have the escalator to initi
gate the height of the airway that
becomes the subway
The business school was managed
by a Mrs. Miffling. There was a
shadowy Mr. Miffling. a meager man
with a husky voice who had the effect
.... --- ~ ■■
of belonging elsewhere, and who only
appeared long enough to he adnmn
ished not to forget something. Mrs.
Miming was assisted in the teuehing
by a young woman named Crowe.
Miss Crowe usually had a eold. At
the beginning she acknowledged one
of those summer colds that hold on.
She spemed always to have been do
ing whatever she did for a long time.
Each piece of instruction sounded like
an echo of an earlier statement of
the same thing and as if it were a
pity the thing wouldn't stick. Ac
cumulated stupidities appeared to
trail along with her patience, which
at times was almost beautiful, but
which could make you feel inferior.
She was neat enough, but it was pain
ful to see her trim her ringer nails
with a large pair of shears.
Jo Kllen was sure she would never
like shorthand. Its precisions were
exasperating. The little strokes had
a puttering tightnef* that marie h**i
teei the need to cllnili over the de-l.
and do a cartwheel. Tee ~de®— chav
—djay. It wan maddening And they
had to lean just me It w;ia a* i!
vour hand were put in a vim*. When
you thought they leaned rit'ht, Min.^
Crowe said they didn’t. The u v 1 h» \
m . * r rr
should le.-ui, ah Illustrated by tin hand
of Ml“t t'mwp that war not engaged
with the hateli ' 1< hief, nos t < ■ . *\ ttt>
il!tTf>ient at all, but you hurt to pie
Hurt that It ’»;n rut y on F»«,—!-*• f
_,.?f_vee k,-ij -y • Month* of this*
perhaps, with not a word yet about
blJSlnt - (To tb- footintu’rt Tomorrow I
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