JO ELLEN By ALEXANDER BLACK. copyright, m«. i - . ... J t Continued From Yesterday.) Sacrifice! Sacrifice of what? This Mas never to he discovered. When Cannerton said, "It'll knock their eyes out," and Eberly said, "That’ll go over,” she couldn't he sure that they were thinking of the eame sort of thing. Cannerton said to her one day, “The sickest feeling, sister. Is when you wait for tho laugh and it doesn’t come." Evidently, then, the things that were expertly expected to go over sometimes didn’t. The dis appointments of the artists and the business people seemed, after all, to be much alike and to have the same cause. They all waited for the laugh. It was the public that laughed last. There was an Interest that tran scended the theater, and, as the months moved, this Interest touched Jo Ellen with an Increasing empha sis. The emotions of the war etirred the theater as they stirred its audi ences. Jo Ellen heard and saw a great deal of the war work by theater people. Eberly was on several com mittees, In whose activities Jo Ellen was now and again called upon to represent him. She was a member in her own name on other commit tees. She was drawn Into the work of a group of women who concerned themselves In the relief of family distresses brought on by the war. She found that she was not alone in discovering the Irrelevancy of theory or conviction in the presence of indi vidual disaster. Then she found that hating war was very simple, but that living with humanity while a war was going on was full of complexi ties that had a misery of their own. II. In those after days whew Jo Ellen had so much time to look back upon It, that period of the war seemed to he marked, as by varicolored splashes on a calendar, by meetings with Stan Lamar and letters from Marty Simms The letters were lover letters, frank ly and fulsomely assuming all be trothal privileges. Their censored vagueness left Marty at a disadvan tage In the matter of news. Tales of experience must be confined chiefly to amusements, or to excitements that did not ‘ trace any Intelligible passage of the huge real drama which for so long had reddened the hori zon of the world. When you would have cared to know about some mighty assault, it was a bit flat to get some Joke about a canteen. He liked to repeat “When I get hack." And there were Instances of a quiver ing fervency in speaking of the' high place, or of some trivial Incident at the Hill. Once he pleaded for a lock of her hair. This she Ignored, after contemplating for a long time an Imaginary picture of the circum stances In which he would unfold such a gift. She fancied that a girl with black hair, or even blonde hair, might have found acquiescence easier It astounded her that Stan should give no sign of any suspicion as to Marty's claims. He knew she re ceived letters from him. She had quoted one of them at a time when she thought Stan had begun to have a confident manner. Hut if he had a suspicion he never betrayed it. He acted as if nothing mattered but his moment. Some turn of a play set her to thinking about conscience, and the difference between conscience and mere shrewdness. It was a difference she found it hard to figure out. Had she a conscience? The play said that women really had very little; that what passed with them for conscience s -— was actually only a trickiness, some times an amazingly Involved lngcnu ity of self-interest. Was it a lack of conscience that had induced her nev er to mention Stan at home? Wasn't not mentioning him an indication that her conscience, or whatever took the place of that, knew there would be disapproval? Her argument with her self was that her mother would catch the name, as Jo Ellen had, and would act In the light of the traditions. Her mother wouldn't know how cautious she was and how safely, at arm's length, she kept the hazard. Her mother wouldn’t know of any pos sible Injustice in a tradition. She wouldn’t know that the meetings were securely formal. Jo Ellen had told her mother about Marty, but rather as If that had been an asking only, as If the answer still fluttered and had not yet alighted. Her way of conveying this Impression to her mother had the effect upon herself of saying that the answer awaited veri fication, as though the document of devotion was still to be signed. If the Implication of promise was actual ly there, It was exacted under the xduress of a crisis that was In so many cases making the world a liar. Finally, she mentioned to her moth er a meeting with Stan at the office. The mother was very brief. "A bad egg,” she said. After a pause, to which she gave no color, Jo Ellen asked: "What did he do?” "Do? I don't know. But they were always In trouble about him. He was a wild one. Ran away once or twice, I understand.” "I guess he has settled down," said Jo Ellen quietly. Mrs. Rewer was obdurate. "I once heard somebody say, about another, man, that he might settle down with out ever being able to settle up.’ So that it would be an uphill mat ter to make Stan excusable. At that particular time Jo Ellen could say to herself that making him plausible was not a thing she had any wish to do; that she was even glad of the barrier. But there were other times when she felt accused and guilty; not so guilty in what she might manage not to tell, as in the loose way she considered that conscience thing. Again, after some cynical cyclone of talk at the office, when a group that belonged very much to raw Broad way was shattering codes and giving a comic dishevelment to honest things, she felt as if she had for gotten to be grown up. She was no longer a child, even if she still slept in the garden of innocence, or one that might look like a garden of innocence if you didn't talk too much to i,o\ Mallin, or Emma Traub, or didn't Inquire too deeply about Myrtle Fleck, for example. Postponing—that was what She was doing; even after Armistice day and the almost concurrent letter that told her Marty was in a hospital, but would be on his feet again In a lit tle while. At the last, and quite with out regard to Marty, she would break off meetings with Stan. She knew precisely how she should say the thing that was to be said. Her for mula was so fixed and unflinching that she twice went to a matinee with him, and danced with him at a war relief festival in which the business and art of the stage accomplished an almost hysterical alliance. A few days after the dance she encountered him while on a mission to a rehearsal. Suddenly he was stand tng beside her In the shadow of a stage drop in front of which, picked nut sharply by the flare of a stand light, a cast was working. It seemed that at first she could see only the glitter of his eyes and the effect shot into her mind as symbolizing her thrilling distrust. The distrust was always as real as if It had a volume of evidence to back it up. And the thrill was real. I.ife evidently ar ranged things in that fashion. On her way out he was beside her in a dark passage. He contrived to halt her in talk. A thin shaft of light struck across her face. She could scarcely see him at all. "It isn’t fair,” he said In a low tone that quite missed his managed level, "that you should hold me off always. A tnan gets desperate.” "If you're a desperate character began Jo Ellen. Then he seized her, by a strategy he might have meditated in detail, and kissed her on the lips. "You stupid fool!" she cried angrily, with a rather unfeminlne fling of her arm that thrust him thudding against the bricks of the passage. As suri rien as either gesture was the change he aaw and heard while his lips parted to speak. Her anger was as If thrust aside "We ll call this the last of It," she added coolly. "I ought to have been able to say that long ago. I’m glad the business ts done with." "Ellen' I’m damned sorry—" "I'm dapnned sorry, too," and Jo Ellen plunged through the black door way Into the lighter space that led to the lobby, III. It was beginning to snow Absurd Iy. the snow made her think of Marty in the hospital. By now Hie would ho tut of the hospital and perhaps on his way home. Anyhow, he was not being snowed on in a trench. She wished she were eager for him, wholly eager for anyone. Probably there was such a thing as an unquestioning eagerness, nn utterly hungering wish that was quite through with think ing. It would he wonderful always to know just what you wanted. Of course, there would remain, after you knew, the petting of what you wanted. But It would be like knowing where you were going. She didiyt really want Marty the way she ought to want him If . . . And then It was a crisp Sunday morning in February, when shoes screeched in the lnwood paths, and Billy, who had been investigating alle gations about what the ice was doing In the Harlem, hurst in with the news that a certatn soldier was com ing. It was Marty, tanned, grinning over the collar of his army overcoat—and limping. Perhaps the limn was really slight, but it had an effect for which you could not be prepared. The limp was not as of being crip pled; it was simply as of l>e!ng marked. It was, indeed, not unbecom ing in the swing it gave to his eager stride. Tet it became to Jo Kllen the dominant note in the picture of his coming, of his hurrying up the steps as if a limp meant nothing at all. Somethin* In the dissonance rave Je Ellen a catch in the throat, and held her where she could watch him through the window without running to the door as her mother did. It curried a thrall. She knew that she would marry him. (To Be Continued Monday.) Wonder What a Marathon Runner Thinks About. Briggs A MICK AY3 'WORK ■"Goe ii LET'ER. Go- i'll Take Freda out ToaHSHT t MAUF To 1 AvJGH VAIHEfX AH - H - &MI/CK S! I L/t. I THINK OF THS 130V.S <3M( V A Fell/ METeAS BACK OF TAE -- I LL. RF_ tn | c.L/CAi> I | t_ U.'ALM ALL THROUGH MYilEAK l[ I'vi uoT AMOIHH) AMD OWIOWS UJHEM TH6V 5000 ML T HI RACE To CROSi TV.E LI ML - 150 ToDA' j ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfielc Majority Rule*. \ CAN (JVT TV*R£E S ANt> \ CAN U'CTNfcS&SS WHO SAW / A TVtCUSANC) 1 WfwiSf? l wjy New York ■ -- Day by Day '--—_ By O. O. M’INTYRE. New York, July 26.—Dutch E<1 Horgan has gone the way of the East Side gangster. He died as he lived—by the gun. They found him pistoled through ths head in an area way in the rear of Blue. Nose Mur phy's soft drink parlor on Avenue A. Like all his Ilk, Dutch Ed had the idea he had enough power to violate the gangster's code. He "squawked" on a pal. That always means violent death. Big Jock Zeiig. Louis the Lump, Twist McGuire and a score of others have died in the same manner. When word goes out through the mysterious channels that a gangster has squealed the gats are polished end the alibis framed. Many times •he killer is selected by drawing lota. He takes with him his "passer” to whom he passes the gun after the fatal shot Is fired. Dutch Ed wdth the odd moniker was a little Italian—a “blood”—in the East Side Jargon. He wore dazzling clothes, much jewelry and was fond of the ladle.s. He was graduated from the Hudson Dusters to a leadershop that meant power on Avenue A. He organized a system of tribute from small tradesmen. When they refused to buy tickets to some Sat urday night ball or clambake they were the victims of black-jacking or store raida. The gangster t ides by terror. Moat gangsters begin careers on street corners. They have an in herent hatred for the corner cop Ability to use their fists gives them high standing but to lead In a foray known as “ganging the cop" usually results In leadership. The bravest of all the gangsters was Young Johnny Spanish. He weighed about 100 pounds and was a bundle of misdirected energy. When he went out on shoot'r.gs he primed himself with drugs He died In the tame manner as Dutch Ed. The contributors of Eranklin P. Adams' column on the World have completed the following insomlnlac song to the tune of "Give My Re gtirds to Broadway:" Give Myra Hess to Broadway Remember me to Harold Hoas; Tallulah Bankhead at 42d street Siegfried Sassoon be there. Tell them of how Blanche Yurka Tom Mingle with the old time throng. Give Myra Hampton old Bmndway, And say that I’ll be there Ray Long. One of the Intereating sights of New York la to stand at the Battery seawall and watch sea gulls swoop gracefully out to meet the Incoming liners. They can spot the vessels before they are aighted with hlnocu lars. They know that, following cuatom, they will he well fed by the liner cooka. The hundred nr so river croft too, that may he viewed at the Battery wall stir the Imagination. There are vessels sailing all flags—coastwise steamers, now and then a full rigged clipper, sloop arnwn, tugs pushing floats that bear whole trains of freight cars ferryboats, bug* liners and river steamers painted white, Copyright, 1*24 f THE NEBBS JUST A MOMENT, PLEASE. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Heaa . _ _____ ___^ TOLD fAC \r t DRANK THIS WATER 1 COULD DANCE A JtG — 1 DRAKfK NEAALV ALL y or it and there ain't onlv> \ A UTTLE JUMP IN N\E VET^ I XYOU KNOVN TOU'RE GETTINg\ OLD AND HOUR BONES ARE 1 PRETTY STirr BUT TOU KEEP » ON DRINKING this WATER AND YOU’LL BE WRITING SANTA CLAUS TOP POLLER SKATES AND A COASTER , \wagon tor Christmas/ Xv^ B ^ Barney Google and Spark Plug Barney’s Going to Organize a Tank Corps. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck /yep - NEXT WEE* UlUk\TiN«* cv-cT' YessiR-• THev HAD a CABIN MOT IM COOING UP To HWl,W FAR PROM Tut SPOT VOU RE GOING -To CANADA ON A HUNTlN(i [^QOSE ? TuEV NO SOONER CoT TwElR GRIPS Trip *- AINT YOV) SORRY UNPACKED uiwen seventeen moose You CAN T COME N°T ^ 6ARMEY Au Tw6 Size OF ELEPHANT'S, POUNCED AICNCJ • Joe--? I HEARD THE (n om . J>0C Too* CAREFUL “They *Tta me the experiences That A(M at one of em vnwo ojas just (Vioose Hunting Doc Inagnep and aisout r0 *ress zieggv inX» Tue UP Thcrh is •ziegfeld MAD clouds • The Ouiaet hir Tue moose LAST SEASON UP IN TUe EVES AND COUWGEO SACK GREAT - • CANADA -IT Makes mv RRINflINfl IIP FATHFR „ «R'„rU,w*L. SEE J,CG* AND MAGG1E ,n fuu- Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus 1 U. S. Patent OHIea PACE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE (Copyri«ht 19:4) I© 192a »v Intl Fraruae Seav.ct. I*e Craat Britain rulita rraarvad. ~ 1 " - JERRY ON THE JOB THESE ARE NO TIME WASTERS * Drawn for Jhe k°rnaha Bee b? Hoban . (Copyright 1924) -