I . (T« Be Continued Tomorrow.) "He must have been excited,” re marked this personage. “He phoned ine that you were coming, but couldn't tell me your name. Just like him.” There was an exchange of names, by which Jo Ellen learned that this waa Mrs. Plnney. "I win a five spot," remarked Mrs. Plnney. “It being a girl." "You mean the baby?” “Yes. He was betting five to one that It would be a boy. Imagine Shaffer a father! The man acted nut ty over the phone. You'd think he’d had the baby himself. Sit down. Miss Kewer.'' The chief isn’t here yet." Mrs. Plnney’s desk was in the outer office. There were a number of open doors, through one of which Jo Ellen saw a man with a bookkeeper' look. Near the entrance was a table at which sat a boy with hqrn-rlmmed glasses whose elbows spanned an aft ernoon paper. A typewriter pattered Jerkily beyond one of the partitions. The faint monotone of an electric fan, like the sound of heat, held Its place through the diluted orchestra tion of Forty-second street. A sound Jo Ellen didn't notice brought Mrs. Plnney up from her desk and drew her away. Presently she emerged with u gesture. Jo Ellen was to go into the room at the front. The man at the broad desk did not lift his eyes from a letter he was reading. To that first glance he had a hard look, a thin hard look, with very deep mouth-parenthesis and a wrinkled forehead. There were gray patches over his ears. Probably he was forty-five or so. He made a movement with his right hand, which Jo Ellen Interpreted as an Invitation to be seated. When he had finished the letter he raised his head, then put the letter quite completely away, without in terfering with his fixed look. His lace, which had seemed wooden, be came metallic. Jo Ellen decided that he was shocked or annoyed. Suddenly he bent slightly forward. “IIow would you like to go on the stage?” “I shouldn't like it at all,” said Jo Ellen. He lifted his wiry hands. "Gracious God! I thank Thee!” "Why are you thankful?” asked Jo Ellen. "My dear, I'm thankful for the smallest favors—even a little thing like that. When they look the way you do they always—always—and they show it—I feel as If I were dictating to a leading woman. Tires me out finally. It would 'give me a lift, it would take off some of the staggering weight that Is making me prematurely decrepit, to know that there is one girl, such as a man might otherwise like to have around, who didn't give a damn for the stage. Of course.-you may have been tipped off. Shaffer may have primed you.” “He didn’t,” said Jo Ellen. "Didn’t he find out anything about you?” “Not a thing." A contortion that might have been the equivalent or the prophecy of a smile modified Mr. Eberly’s hardness. “What do you suppose he thought he was doing?" "Mostly," said Jo Ellen, "I think lie was being excited about a baby. I don’t think you ought to blame him for that.” “A baby . . .! Blame him? I haven’t blamed him. It’s punishment enough. But Shaffer—” "You mean that you have to know something about me?” The wrinkles In Mr. Eberly’s fore head twisted Into a hieroglyph. A flash of ferocity, perhaps a kind of weary ferocity, showed for a moment. “Shuddering saints! Can't you see that this is like marrying you. I could marry you offhand, In fact, with only the Information of my eyes. But to take you as a confidential secretary—” Jo Ellen finished half of a laugh before she could check herself. Mr. Eberly pinned her with an in terrogatory glare. "I was only thinking.” said Jo El len. “that with Mr. Shaffer it must have been something Itke love at first sight.” Mr. Eberly got up sharply and went over to look into Forty-second street. Jo Ellen remarked to the back: "Mr. Shaffer said that anybody who knew you would tell me you were square. Anybody who knows me will tell you I’m square.” “Well, I’ll be damned!” Mr. Eberly spun around with his hands twitch ing in his pockets. "This is one way! May I ask where you have worked?" “Only in one place—for nearly a year. I’m there now.” Mr. Eberly wrote down Trupp's name and telephone number, also Jo Ellen's home address, and, at her sug gestion, Benjamin Bogert and his office number on Seventh avenue. “When could you come?" he asked when this was done. "Tomorrow?” “I’ll have to give notice—” "Do you think I might be able to make It appear that this is urgent?” “Perhaps next Monday.” Mr. Eberly writhed. "Perhaps—?’’ “I’ll telephone to Mrs. Plnney ^he first thing in the morning.” "Thank you,” concluded Mr. Eberly with an Inflection that was like shut ting a door. . . . Jo Ellen felt that she had closed one door and opened another. It was quick work—the more as of leaping over things by reason of the loafing Intervals behind her—this finding Mr. Trupp mystified at his office, appeal ing for an outward application of his own theory about Opportunity, and bringing in Mona Pascoe for a con firmatory three-minute interview. There was an awkwardness she hadn't thought of, for the telephone rang as this last bit of action was about concluded. When she knew by the first of Mr. Trupp’s words that the other office was connected, she start out with Mona, but not soon enough to avoid hearing the first of Mr. Trupp’s speeches. “Tell your man Eberly," rumbled Mr. Trupp. "that he's a robber.” Yet Mr. Trupp decided to make her comfortable as to the other things he Said, once she was back at the end of a reasonable interval. Incident ally, it appeared that after the open ing challenge to the woman there had been some talk with Eberly him self. “You'd think," said Mr. .Trupp, "they were hiring a cashier for a bank. You really would. I remem ber the day my father sent me. . . I A. Forty-second street was a glitter ing change. To come out of the hole In the ground Into the tumult of Broadway at this spectacular Inter section was sufficient to obliterate oven the apprehensive discussions of home. The family council did not object to change In itself, but the manner In which It happened was re garded as eccentric; and Eberly Pro ductions inspired misgivings. The gravity of comment brought Jo Ellen an evening of defensive explnnation. Even the man-of-the-world liberality of Grandmother Bogert was a bit quelled. "That theatrical bunch,’’ she said, "Is tough. Tou know what they call Broadway down there—Tri angle Alley. The Other Woman parades the place. She's scooped up and shoveled Into choruses. A de cent girl can be decent anywhere, but she can have dirty going.” Jo Ellen went to bed smarting from the criti cism of her Impulsive plan. She felt as If she had been convicted of turn ing off a path that was quite suffi clently picturesque into a Jungle no toriously Infested with beasts. It was conceded that she would go armqd and that her weapon was good, but why prowl? And alone? Yet here were girls getting ready to go over Into the war. If she had Celt differently, she might have done that. Family ties—nothing stopped you when you thought you had to do that. And you would be a heroine. She had spoken of this, and how her own city was her place In which to go and come and look out for her self, Uncle Ben had said something about shows as being not mention able with the life and death matters of war, and it was not until she got Into bed that she thought of an an Bwer. She was re:nny to say it in the morning, with much more, but when Uncle Ben put his arm around her shoulders at breakfast time he said, "Sixc them up. You'll know when the game Isn’t right.” It appeared that the trial of the new Job still awaited testimony. The truth was that Broadwsy, even New York --Day by Day— By O. O. M'INTYRE. New York, July 22.—Word has drifted back from far-off Shanghai that Silver Dollar McKenna has turned the last card. He slumped down lifeless over the gaming table. Silver Dollar was known 20 years ago as Broadway's squarest gambler. He won the sobriquet Silver Dol lar because of his custom of giving silver dollars to waiters, messengers and other menials for slight services. McKenna, It was said, In his-early days had studied for the priesthood. He had a great shock of iron gray hair, wore a wide hat, boiled shirt and black shoestring tie. Once he made an effort to go into business. He had saved $20,000 out of his win nings. Three months later he went to a friend and said: "I’m cleaned.'' He borrowed $50 and boarded an ocean liner for Monte Carlo. Sixty three days later the friend received a mbney order for $5000. "Here is the loan with interest," he wrote. In a few months ho came back again glittering with diamonds and carry ing a well filled purse. There was another time when Mc Kenna was playing poker in a room In the old Fifth Avenue hotel. The stakes were high and he was win ning. The son of a prominent New Yorker was dealing. McKenna saw him slip some cards off the bottom of the deck. He stopped the deal, pushed his pile of chips over to the cheater and said: “Son. you need this worse than I. Remember your place In the world. I am just a gambler but I play fair.” The story goes the ser mon went home. The youth quit the ga'ming table nnd Is today a man of big affairs. He always kept, In touch with McKenna. Another story concerns an outcast moth scorched In ths Broadway Home. She said she had been the toast of the town—but died a crumb on Tenth Avenue. McKenna had never met her but he ordered the most expensive coffin to he had. heaped the bier with flowers and In a solitary carriage followed the coffin to ths grave, Douls Wolhelm deserted a pro fessorship of mathematics at an eastern university to capitalize his ugliness on the stage. As the glow ering and battered star in "The Hairy Ape” he gave stark realism to the part of a liner stoker. On the street or wherever he goes Wol helm’s expression of primitive brutal ity causes heads to turn. He has a pugnacious Jaw, a twisted nose, beetle brow and a gorilla swing to his bulky figure. Yet Wolhelm is the most polished of men. His Idle hours are spent among his collection of books. Hs loves to roam the galleries and attend scientific lectures. An obese and knock-kneed woman In a dashing riding habit was stroll ing down ths avenue from ths park bridle path. As she passed a carriage one of the horses gave a loud neigh. "Madam," shouted g newsboy, “he's giving you the horA laugh " (Copyright. ltlt.) oh 5k\^-NAv. C Mo»J O^'ER Rl)N) LIKE ^JEVEft* THIhJG muL ^ at Forty-second street, looked quite matter-of-fact on that Monday morn ing. To a seasoned person like Jo Ellen, the Climax building was a9 pro sale as the Van Veeder. There was simply a little more of everything In the landscape. There was more of clang and scuffle until you got to the appointed quiet of your office, and you found yourself there with many, instead of being alone. Certainly Mrs. Plnney didn’t look like a menace; and Shaffer, who had a desk In the same room with Mrs. Plnney, carried an effect of sophisticated meekness that never seemed like a hazard. Jo Ellen /VUEU. VaJMKT^N / D\0 UNCLE SM A \ BRING US~AOOM? ) l BILLS OR OROERi?/ ILL aer A tl LLit>J COLLAR _ UCJEPftoof | TrtffT VIE COULO Co A SPECIAL. Ml? COwuMrTATioti -Tcxety Tiruxrf EhOWE.CC 1C uvfrn Li an «tirr $UY.’ it Awa Sst _ HlATJ K VK»l» 1 IPlBl IT Im l fi'iirm* S«»»ici. Ime. Cry* Wrtllw ***•’'*4 The Days of Real Sport By Briggs l.»* ^ THE -CAY AFT&R The. CIRCUS -- —--■-■■ f •F»rift* iMf t 1 fr%M« wondered whether any of them grew up on a farm. Shi soon decided that If they had, the circumstance was not likely to become a subject of conversation. Everything was fear fully of Broadway and the moment. [New shows were opening with dashes iof war emotion In them. East re hearsals on later shows were In prog ress. Younger actors, removed by draft or enlistment, were leaving parts to be filled. There was the question as to what a war wdnter would mean for the stage, as for other Interests; as to how humanity was going to behave, and how Its be thing it wasn’t being taken seriously Very soon It became evident that em> tlon would find one of its chief out< lets at the theater; and that the work, ers of the theater were ready fot sacrifices, sober or hysterical, wher ever jfce fevers of patriotism called. *Py"|t,t m4‘ by Km« f«t«rS3yi»)iem. fnc jcr«.i Bnu.nriffct. 1C«rv«l BRINGING UP FATHER «, si/K Drawn for ™*P°£aba,Bec by McManu* NOW TAKE A UTTLe WALK AND WHEN YOO C£X BACK • BREAKFAST i WILL e>E ready: JERRY ON THE JOB THE BUSINESS DEPRESSION Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban •__ ._ _ _III _ (Copyright 1#24) f VoElC *K>M 0\D A \jTne wsm sc*ewb. I '?2 J s' I Ow*H » tH 1 'twC ^A 0>Dm~i SEW J PfcAcrrtCAiw / ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield v Safety In Numbers. rA Pik.e Time op the i Yo <^EY V.CCAYF0 ||^ *;ft *ll \ SUCH * ^UQH ^QHSOR* 1 A ^ * N0U <*T A CRTO>liH 1^1 ' &\.REAbY =T SOMCBctt' X * £**>* It *FrSR. ■ i CM* HM / 1 . tCUSfci » \ \.err?v V 'THE'Rt s. A 'ux)Qh f ^Sr"' \CROOK COMING^/ Ms HE. s iMBr NES * HE U)OlC"r^M| tOMlNQ pi t>f\RE FOU.OUUF p Jiv??/ \ he 'twee r i xj us Runninq y ■