JO ELLEN 1
By ALEXANDER BLACK. Copyri,h, lf54
(Continual From Bdturdv.)
The incident having occurred on a
Friday, two Intervening days assisted
the processes of cooling and healing.
On Monday the school agreed to
Ignore outward recognition of the
calamity to personal relations. Miss
Pascoe's pale eyes found a way of
avoiding all others. Her head bent
a little lower than usual over her
manual and ruled paper, and there
was an access of stiffness before her
typewriter. She had been an earnest
student from her first day. Often
she epent most of the lunch hour
recess in practice; at other times she
gave this interval to a book. She
always carried reading of some sort.
Jo Ellen guessed she was twenty, and
hopelessly disagreeable.
One afternoon In September, when
Jo Ellen had gone with Clara Dawes
to a motion picture theater, she saw
Miss Pascoe walking with a middle
aged man on crutches. They moved
slowly on a crowded sidewalk. It
was evident that the man was very
weak. Jo Ellen watched, for the per
mitted half minute, the slow pace of
the pair. What an exasperating im
prisonment to be shackled to such a
way beside an infirmity! She was
sorry for the gray girl who worked
so frantically and' who went home
to take up this burden.
When she met Miss Pascoe face
to face on the following day Jo Ellen
said, ‘‘Good morning!” Miss Pascoe
refused response. To Jo Ellen there
was a peculiar sadness in her silence.
The silence was startling broken n
week later, when such a thing had
begun to seem quite unthinkable. It
chanced that the two were left alone
at the close of school. Jo Ellen had
set herself to finish, at all hazards,
a piece of transcription, and it was
ns amazing as some violent shatter
ing of the room to know that the
figure of Miss Pascoe stood beside her
desk, and to hear the colorless voice
say, "I was a fool."
Jo Ellen looked up quickly, end saw
the gray face set in what might have
seemed under any other circumstances
to he defiant.
There was a strained Interval in
Which Jo Ellen arose and waited.
‘‘Miss Baum told me the truth—sev
eral days ago—about your trying to
fix the machine. I suppose you
didn’t think It was worth while to
mention a thing like that to anyone
who could spill over as I did. But I
don’t quite like ... I can’t let you go
on thinking that I’m a beast. I’m not
New York
--Day by Day—
V_____
By O. O. M’INTYRE.
New York, July 14—A page from
the diary of a modem Samuel Pepys:
Early up and to the Waldorf where
came Robert Edgren, Hugh Fullerton
and Gene Byrnes and much talk of
golf and bo to breakfast.
Through the town in a wilting heat
and to play tennis with my cousin
Josephine and was badly trounced
but merry withal. Home and worked
at my Journal and read some English
reviews of my book.
In the afternoon with Aubrey Eads
and Peggy Hoyt to the races and a
great display of fashion and I saw
young Vincent Astor and his lady
and many others.
Dinner at home and Will Gibson,
art editor, came and took some pic
tures and we did a lot of foolery and
high jinking and so with him for a
beaker of cold milk and to bed.
The harmonica is supplanting the
ukelele in popularity. Flappers are
carrying them to afternoon and
nightly revels. Chorus girls are
mastering the instrument and three
revues have harmonica bands. The
< hamp harmonica expert of the town
is an East Side boy of 10.
Chaps who are daily patrons of
the turf wear the most picturesque
clothes of all New Yorkers. There
are pearl derbies, flaming red As
cot ties, checkered vests, and, of
course, the jauntly "lung binoculars
over the shoulder. They seem sur
feited with a worldly wisdom and
there is a quick and racy tang to
their talk. Each face is an enigma—
they may win or lose big sums but
you can never tell it by their express
ions.
An abandoned old garage on Sul
livan street has become a popular
night haunt of the moment. It seats
BO and is lighted by lamps. An ex
pert accordionist furnishes the otjly
dance music and two Apache dancers
hurl one another about the room as
a special attraction. It smacks of
the left hank of the Seine and the
cover charge Is $5.
Down at Atlantic City the other
day I recognized in a tattered chair
roller along the broad walk a man
who was once an essnyer of the
Apache dance. His name was In
lights on Broadway. He told me his
story. A young girl he married be
came his dancing partner and In
hurling about with the fierce abandon
of the Apache he caused an Injury
from which she later died. He took
to drink, roamed the world and even
tually became one of the ehairmllers.
The chair rollers is. I believe, the
nearest wo have to the beach comb
er In America. Very few are steady
workers. They make enough to buy
a little food and enough Illicit whisky
to help them forget. You see scores
of them trudging along, heads down
and evidently trying to avoid recogni
tion among thousands who stroll
along.
Despite Its rush and hurry there
ere moments In New York that re
veal the nelgliborllness of Main
street. An aged woman was try
ing to rrose a crowded corner. Hhe
made several starts but became
frightened. A big limousine drew
up nenr her end a man stepped out
and escorted her Into the car. Khe
was on her way to a point 10 blocks
away and he, due to traffic Impedi
ment, mtssed-a train that was to take
him to an Important conference In
Chicago.
Perhaps there would he more of
this sort of nelghbnrllnees If there
were less suspicions among New
Yorkers. My effort to pull a Sir
Galahad resulted In the flaming blush
recently. I stepped quickly out of
the way to permit a Indy to move
Into a revolving door. The door
caught her In a vlse-Hke grip, she
screamed and her escort gave rue the
best 100 per cent glare I've had since
1 Stepped on Gloria Swanson's train
In a picture studio.
4Cop^rl*ht, U24.)
i
nice, but I'm not a beast, I’ve had
a lot of trouble . .
"Let's forget it,” said Jo Ellen.
Miss Pascoe looked at Jo Ellen as
if she were trying to fancy a matter
like forgetting. There was a little
tremor in her lips, then a hardening
of their lines. She made a gesture
that might have meant much if it
could have been read.
"1 don't think I could quite do
that," she said. ' -t isn't true when
We say that, is it? But I would like
—you will stop thinking of me as a
beast, won't you?"
"I didn't mean it,” protested Jo
Ellen. "And I don't think it. I've only
felt sorry.”
“Sorry for me?” Miss rascoe became
rigid again.
"Sorry It happened,” said Jo Ellen.
"Sorry I let myself . .
"I don't blame you.”
"You'll let me be sorry you've had
trouble.”
Miss Pascoe turned away, then
turned back. The tears gave an odd
pathos to the grimness of her face.
“I won't begin yapping about my
troubles,” she said.
When the time came the troubles
were told. They centered in the man
on crutches. Her father was near
the end of the savings that made it
possible for them to piece out with
the pension, or half pay, from the
people he had worked for—for twenty
years. It was incurable, the affair of
the foot. And his general health was
bad. As soon as she could equip her
self she was going to work. That
would save them from separation. It
would be terrible if he had to go to
some charitable place. There were
things his daughter could do for him
that no one else would understand.
Jo Ellen listened with a sympathy
that Miss Pascoe accepted at last
with a gratefulness of which she gave
many strange signs. Jo Ellen found
the gratefulness and the resulting
friendship as peculiar as the rest of
her. They had many talks.
The great event in early October
was the visit from the fat man.
XI.
The fat man came promptly to the
point.
“I never flourish around.” he said
to Mrs. Miffllng. "Always gel straight
down to brass tacks. My name's J.
J. Trupp. You’ll remember I was In
here before. Now I'm ready to talk
business. With your permission and
co-operation—which I shall compen
sate, If that is Implied—you see. I'm
perfectly frank with you—I would
like to engage the services of a girl
I saw here—assuming, of course, that
she is still here. I never forget n
name—Miss Ellen Rewer. Red hair."
"I really don't understand you."
exclaimed Mrs. Mlffling. "I really
don’t."
The fat man paused in the midst of
the process of mopping his neck,
which seemed to be chronically damp.
“Now, do you know," he said. "I
should have thought that I hnd been
exceptionally explicit. Honest Injun,
do you mean to say I haven't been
as plain as daylight?”
"I don't understand,” Mrs. Mlffling
returned, with a quite sincere stare,
"how you could choose a stenographer
in the manner—”
"Ah! You think I’m eccentric—or
maybe something worse. Well, may
be I am. But I’ll tell you something
I tried the efficiency method of sclen
tific selection. Sounds good. I know
a man who picks his people by the
reports of a handwriting expert
Bright idea, for all I know. There
are tests of the most profound char
acter. Anyway, you can read the
diplomas, cross-examine the girl, drag
in her parentage, ask her what
dreams she has. I suppose you could
send her to phrenologist for a confi
dential report. When you are all
through you can land the poorest imi
tation of nn honest-to-God secretary
outside of an asylum. I tell you,
I've tried being scientific. I've tried
letting my wife pick 'em, and I don't
mind remarking that my wife has
an extraordinarily keen judgment of
human beings. But the one she
picked for me was the most perfect
specimen of the female boob that ever
used up carbon paper. No, sir. I
got through with all that. I tried in
stinet, and found that It works. I get
an impression—as l think I told you
—an Impression. I had an impression
about the Jewish girl 1 have now.
She's the goods. My wife didn't like
her at first. Now she admits—any
way, she says she's improved wonder
fully. I tell you when you get ’em
right they do improve. And my im
pression’s what I go by. No questions,
except, maybe, are they engaged tq
bo married. I think this Jewish girl
fooled me She’s going to be married
next week. Maybe tlie Jews have
short engagements. I don't know.
Anyway, off she goes next Friday.
Wants me to come to her wedding
My wife thinks that would be n little
too so so. Anyway, I want a new
one. And I had the impression that
the girl with the red hair—"
"She isn't through with her work,”
declared Mrs. Miffling.
"My dear lady, anything she hasn't
That Guiltiest Feeling By Briggs j
The 6licE eternal- \
ALWAYS IN TH6 ROUGH '
AND HOLDING UP THE
X 5
ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield
Self Preservation.
NOTH\NQri
^USY WANTED
^0 KNOW \E
VOU CAN
n Hear frcm
HERE'.’ M
||gggi^3|ll ,
.
<
learned in two months under your in
slruction—"
“It can't he done in two months "
"I’ll take her up where you leave,
off. What does it is the. influence
of personality—personality. I round
them out, develop them. Of course,
they've got to know the chicken
track* and a tittle about the machine
Not too much. They get high flown
with too much training. What they
want ts plain practice on the job. 1
guess you'd say I wns nn easy boss
But I'm a good trainer."
"This girl's only seventeen," pro
tested Mrs. MltTIIng.
"My dear lady, nge means nothing
at all. The worst numbskull I ever
had was forty-two. A fact. Why
that woman—'•
"You'd better speak to the girl her
self. I suppose 1 can't prevent
you—"
t ".Now you're talking." exclaimed
Mr. Trupp. "Now we re getting down
to it."
"Her future la lier affair. If she's
willing to cut OIT her own train
ing—"
"And begin a, new training—going
right on. She's had great luck, be
ginning with you—"
Mrs. MllTline went to call Jo Ellen
"Here's a man wants to offer you
position. You’re not ready for any
position. Rut he's a freak and warns
ycu anyway. You'll have to decide
for you*self."
Tills was said Just outside the class
room. It was accompanied by no ac
count of the antecedent circum
stance* Mrs. , Miming** annoyance
had been softened, l>tJt it survived.
She evidently fell that precipitation
would he unfavorable as possible to
Mr. Trupp, whose proportions pad a
first effect of appallinp do Eli. •
(To Ho Conflnnril Tomorrow
THE NEBBS THE FRESH GUY Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess
’/HERE'S "THREE. V/l SHOULD SAY NOT !\
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MUGGINS FELLOW. Him WE H\REDHVMSELF
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---,---( UPiS f^CCESS
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f&^nj \^PT\ONEQVy
Barney Google and Spark Plug Barney Has a Winning Way With Himself. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck
010 I MOP UP l AST XoAftME'/'- WhV°U
y/uiECK?* lll Tell The \
/knock KNEED WOBlDI \ ■D0MT TOO
1 Dio AND 8EUEV6 ME \ 6t0W UP To The
III fA\| EXPERIENCES The! TAVERN ANO
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hXtvi^sand r WON I S^awut
l/il iNv LET SOME ONE v-.., >
BRINGING UP FATHER Drawn for The Omahft Bee by McM.nu.
MX DEAR FELLOW • XOO T^HOOLD
CO TO A HO*bRtTAU* jObT tsTAX
THERE AMD HAVE A COOD RE«bT!
I
* 'WELL • I LL PHONE —
TOO LATTER • DOCTOR
4'MME TIME TO THINK
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*924 iv Inti Fiatuh* St*vic». Inc.
Great Britain rifhta rea^rved
CRAOOO'oTOO DON'T LOOK. WELL • |
I HOPE TOO ARE HOT COINC TO OE. j
SICK. AS LORO AND UADV ALOV
ARE COMlISO TO SPEND A WEEK
WITH L)t> • (
THEY'RE COMIIS' AH
COHN A fee HERE
VH(, PER A WEEK °
HEU_0'0OC‘.
I VE DECIDED . |
TO CO TO THE
HOfePiTAsL \
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JERRY ON THE JOB NO DIFFERENCE OF OPINION HERE. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban
• i CoDjrifht 1924 )
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