JO ELLEN By ALEXANDER BLACK. copyright, mat. (Continued From Yesterday.) There was something expectant •bout the appearance of the kitchen ette. She lighted the gas stove, and put on water to boil. A cup of < offer would be a bracer. The morning rit vial of the dumb waiter had been ex plained bv the janitor, who had some thing wrong with his larynx and spoke in a husky treble. How queer the voice was and how oddly the janitor walked, occurred to Jo Ellen as she investigated the dumb-waiter for the milk bottle. The dumb-waiter was empty. It was too early for •werytliing. However, there was the condensed milk. • f which two cans Mood side by side on one of the pan try shelves. Martv had laughed at l»er way of dramatizing each of the •helves. . . . If there had been a near sound she would have turned swiftly oh. yes with an exultant swiftness, that would express the se.c ret d hope of the night —ready to comfort Marty, shuffling in his pajamas . d telling her that he was all right. But there was no sound except that faint intonation as from a Whispered chorus of street.1 —the mutter that seemed to make loneliness audible. Very likely there were thousands of people in thousands of shut-in corners of the city. . . . Of course. Everything was multiplied in a city. Yet not quite this. . . . She drank a clip of coffee, and sat staring into the straggling green of the yards and particularly, perhaps, at a tire escape on which there was a bird cage. The bird was hopping about with an early morning enter prise. It had no discernible note, but it gave an impression of being pleas urabiy occupied within its wired world. From a window directly op posite a girl in her night dress, with her hair pinned in a tight knot, thrust out her head to look at the sky. Some times the sky was very important. Sometimes it didn’t matter. Yet Jo Ellen was glad that it wasn’t rain lag at the moment. Tn fact, it would hive seemed particularly pitiful to have it rain. Suddenly she felt Impelled to go to the door of the bedrodfn. Marty was sitting up. His legs dangled over the side of the bed and he was clutching at them with inept hands. Before he saw her she heard him muttering. “My God! My Got!’' VII. There was to be no reprieve. •‘O Jo Ellen!” He held out his hands to her as she hurried forward. The sight of her verified the disaster, and na he grasped her he was repeating, "O niy God!” She had meant not to cry again, hut there was something in hia mis ery that caught her up. It was as if, after all. he were surprised, us if he. too, had thought there might be some softening of the stroke. He tried to i el I Iter that when he first opened his i yes he thought it might htfve been a dream. It was just the sort of tiling wm might dream, jtist exactly. There was nothing about it that was like anything real. . . . And then—at the first movement—he knew that it was real, that there had bpen the stairs, and the doctor, and the telling him to be still at the very time when he had wanted to tell her. . . . She began at the morning and told him how she had been careful not to be noisy. She wanted to make the rest after the shock as long and as perfect as she could, thinking that 1 fayhe. . . Yes. she had hoped that when he awakened it would be bet ter, that whatever the doctor meant might he the wrong meaning. Hoc tors often had everything all wrong. She drew away from him, her hands on his shoulders. "Look here, Marty. We’ve got to take a brace. You've had a shock —a little thing, vqu might say, but a shock to the hurt place in your hack. It may pass off, don’t you see'.’ If you're just careful. Just careful now. We ll fool the doctors yet. Fool them. We've got'to be patient for a little while. When he comes—" His eyes were holding intently as she spoke, noticing that there was poor teamwork between her eyes and her lips. "We're fooling each other, aren't me?” he said wistfully. "We both know it's all up—” "I don't know any such thing!" cried Jo Ellen. “And you don't either Nohody can know yet. Wait until we have a specialist look you over. You may need a little mending. Other people have been mended, and have walked—” "You're a game Rport, aren't you. Jo Ellen?" He had one of her hands and was patting the round white fore arm that emerged from the short sleeved house dress, "A game sport." “I’m a man's wife." she said, stand ing before him, “and a man’s wife, under these circumstances, ought to be hustling to get him a cup of coffee. Meanwhile friend husband isn’t to he too fresh about moving around until the doctor has another look-in.’’ His eyes followed her as she flashed kitchenward. f N New York -•Day by Day•• y i By o. o. McIntyre New York, July 30.—It has been a year ago since our great and lasting grief came to our little household. It was the rustling of the wings of death/Junior, a faithful elght-year-old Boston dog, was struck down and killed by an automobile while cross ing Fifth avenue. Junior was a thorou^ibred In life just as he was In death and the memory of him brings freshets of tears. His tiny little mound In Harts dale Is marked with a marble slab reading: "Junior—Faithful to the End." Not once in his remarkable life did he betray his trust. In memory of Junior—due to maga zine and newspaper articles—more than 100 stray and friendless dogs have found cheerful homes. So we who loved him are comforted by the fact that he did not die in vain. The great soul of him goes marching on. I wonder If people generally realize what a big part dogs play In the lives of mankind. In the past few weeks I have received letters of two remark able Instances of the influence of the love and loyal hopiage of the dog. One Is from a prisoner In a Jer sey prison. He made a false step and is paying the price. Four weeks after his Incarceration he received word that his dog waited patiently for him at the gate of his home—refusing to leave, finally refusing to eat, and then he died. "When my time Is up here,” he writes, "I am going to pay the debt I owe that dog. I was forsaken by everyone but him. No matter what my inclinations are, and they are not the best because I am embittered, the faith that dog had in me will keep me straight.” The other Is from a woman who nightly patrolled Broadway her lips framing the suggestive question: "I am back In a little town In Wiscon sin," she wrote. "A dog sent me her* to reshape a wasted life. He taught me something the world did not— humility.” Hugh Fullerton, the sport writer, s*nt a newspaper the following an nouncement: "Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Fullerton desire to announce that after six years of seeking from Dan bury, Conn., to Toms River, N. J., and from Tarry town, N. Y. to Hemp stead, D I., they have at last found a home in New York City at Engle wood, N. J.” VIII. The day after the wedding. It was Sunday. Because It was to be Sunday they had made plans for that day, plans Implying that Marty was to be back to work on Monday morning. Jo Ellen's vacation stretched forward as a spacious vfB ta. Right there at the beginning, and belonging to both, was this first day that was to be wholly their own. There were a great number of points about the apartment that could not be considered correctively until they were actually llvln gthere. When you were actually In a place you could adjust It like a garment. You could snuggle Into It and reach the state of utter comfort by experiment. In the afternoon they were to have sallied out, not upon any visit, but upon some special private adventure. Just as they might have done If they were in a strange city. Marty had em phaslzed the fact that going forth In their married state would Invest any imaginable place with a peculiar and superlative wonder. The day as It came was extraordl narlly different. When It was over It had the effect of tumult, of clatter Ing excitement. No shred of the original picture remained; not a line or spot. Where there was to have been peace there was suspense. Where there was to have been pri vacy there was the effect of a crowd, of hearts laid hare to the sky. Doctors seemed to populate the place. Only one doctor was physi cslly present—he came soon after nine o'clock, With his searching look and economized gestures of Investigation. But talk turned again and again to doctors. It sounded on the phone when Jo Ellen began the wired con fesslonal that brought, early In the day. Uncle Ben and her mother, and Marty's mother and father. The rea sonable Inference was that somebody should find the real doctor who would do eomethlng at tnce. Mrs. Simms gave the Impression of being astound ed that Jo Ellen should have picked up any old doctor In such a crisis Marty’s father, however, pointed out that Jo Ellen had naturally grabbed the first one she could find. Very likely the only thing remained to la done was something profound. It might take time. It wasn't like a broken ankle. "I’d like Dr. Parjter to see him.' said Ben Bogert. Tills Is a story going the rounds —a veiled reference to It having ap peared In a social weekly and In a Broadway play. Several years ago the wife of a devoted husband dis appeared. He combed the earth for her and always struck a false trail. He was Inconsolable and finally gave up his business and Is now living In Egypt. On the day she disappeared there was a fire In a questionable hotel. It was a resort that did not require the formality of registering. Three people were burned to death— one of the bodies was charred beyond recognition. He never knew. Special guards have put a stop to the Juvenile vaudevllllans who make a show house of the big subway sta Hons. They were street urchins who sang tender ballads, did tumbling tricks and clog dancing for pitched pennies of hurrying passengers. Most of the youngsters came from the East Hide ajid some helped to support par ents. In the early morning my telephone rang. "Standard OH company speak Ing,” said the voice. I had visions of lunching with John I), or an Invl tation to share In some melon cut ting. "Yes, yes, go on!" I said breath lessly. "We are calling In all our oil cans," continued the voice, "and want your correct address " Waiting a few moments I decided to pass the Joke along and called up a friend. "Standard Oil company shaking,' I said. . "Don't be a sap. you sap," re plied the voice and the phone clicked In my ear. It must be an old one But you can't blame a guy for trying (Cufiyrlglitt !!>-*•> Bogert looked crushed. He never ceased watching for the sign In Jo Ellen, as If the true meaning, the definite prophecy, were to be read, somehow, in her face. He saw that she whs fighting to keep the weight of this intrusion from breaking hei st ride, that she had her chin set. not hysterically, nor defiantly, but (as he read it) in a kind of plucky patience that stood for a thing or didn't, and that could bid Its time. He knew that he was not seeing her first mood, that she had already made some sort of term* with the calam ity. He knew, too, that she was not f f \ GOT A 10 / DOLLAR GOLD P\EC.E f TOO AH- I HATE TO CARRM \T AROUND . \ _ I N\\GUT UAnQ \T A- \ OUT rof? A DOLLAR \ _ UAMCHOUGOT KlMkS'H*MGt: rop ^ The water Tr4AT MAKEE TvC OLD toung^T-. I'VE, CERTAINLY to GET Rid OF THIS \ GOLD PIECE "TOMORROW I *_\T WOR.RIES ME — Gold, SEEMS MORE VALUABLE / TMAM PAPER MONEV/ / Ross HOW IOWG- SPARkV' uss v oo -io #U E*»CC ^ \G6TT,»j* CA1'< II MG AM 00 >M OCSE \ ***** U6AU qahaoa woods’ 1uiC0nCt ^ HW _ TAKE Aim r S>6 AFWAIO QVJT AHO cwc SPADK^ s Gar,A. S0ME UOMSVCk EKMC.SE , ~ TuaT(.L Qt?fiCE HIM DO s ' ► DON T EE t>ILLY •> , WHAT DO I OADDX • &OBBED CARt ABOUT IB ALL^THE FASHION-OO - L-! FASHION (VOU have to LOOK LIKE A ZULU TO EE AQiyj'i ^ j AZ "rut. j 9uTT|>iS Oh a S Coa~r S'JEE'Jl J T/— d M The Solitaire Fiend’s Bride. By Briggs - - ' ' *' •-- ■» » " ’ — T- ■ " *■— *1 —■■■■■ ■■ . ----- THIS AFFECTING SCENE ALAS IS NOT AN UNCOMMON ONE .... THE HUSBAND A VERITABLE ,S *ot)lcTED TO SOLITAIRE. AND t:RE HlS BRIDC HAS DOFFED HER WEDDING PURSUING HIS LOW AND UNMANLY PRACTICE.... REALIZING HER UNHAPPY FUTURE SHE ^LVS_5E:IZED A REVOLVER AND PIERCED HER HEART WITH A PULI FT ... WHO DARE CHIDE HER ? looking go far forward as her elders were Inclined to look, and he was ?lad of it. The young couldn't see. . . If they could see, they would al ready he old. They wouldn't, like Jo Ellen, be able to cheer up and start io put pep into the situation. They wouldn’t have that wavering look that Marty had, a wavering between ex cited hope and clammy desperation. Marty wanted to sit up. Tie felt all right except for the stupid legs. But the doctor had ordered him to remain quiet until such time as "the fam ily" might decide on the personnel of a consultation. "I should think an army surgeon would naturally come into the game,” said Bogert, standing with Marty’s father at the bedside. “The United States is concerned _ln this." Marty looked up sharply. "I'm sick ■ f the United States.” he said. “The army surgeons dismissed me. That was that. Besides, the surgeon whf knew all about It was killed In f smash-up—two cars—head on, and then into a ditch He was a rougl brute, and he got his. What’* th« pood of going back? Let's begin right here.” (To Be Continued Tomorrow.) THE NEBBS RESOURCEFUL RUDY. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol He«* Tbo TOO KNOW WHAT TOGAS' IS. BESIDES \ BEING WEDNES&AT ? mS MT B'RTHDAT AND \ I DIDN'T GET AS MUCH AS CONGRATULATIONS FROM VOU BEFORE WE WERE HARRIED , l Suppose/ V TOO THINK WHEN T GOT TOUi i ( g^ D'Dn’T NEED ANT MORE PRESENT^/ JWy7 <' ’ -fiS / IS THM SO ? A NICE SHINS $10 GOLD P1E.CC - ALL EOR SOU ! I RACKED V BRMN TOR "TWO WE.CK.S TRYING / a^Ksasws^KssPB * x £A\D - SAID l - I'LL T HAND HER f^Tio Gold p\lcc - coNGRWuiKnonS I AMD MANS MORE VAAPP'C GaRTM DASS •y [(Copyright, 1924. by The Bell Syndicate, Inc Barney Google and Spark Plug All Isn’t Moose That Barney Shoots at. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck N\ GOING ro \ A (ITTLS HUNTING | QlG - • |P [M NOT WERE Ujwen You an® S®arkv return Go To tteo I AIM T COMING BACK Till t Po® A AAOOSfc J '■ B - - nfe-jL ‘ Copyright. 1924. by King Feature* Syndicate, Inc Creat Britain right* reserved BRINGING UP FATHER a«.*KSs1«. XL Drawn for Bee by McMam“ i l ---- -- i r ■ ■ -—i i- f — ■ ■ - - i » — -- — --— -—, oHT n-5 DOME 'YOO’RE «'CHTfN M^OOTnr* - WWIN-TIME TAO.KtN’.TO V~7 XOO - cp •’LL TEUl_ ,'YOOff MOTHER • tsHE'LL Tell- ^ou where %>OuE '^AMSAertOvi» - v ■ 1 > \mp Ca.nCt vjav't ^-7 'TWSt LOviS’. ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield A TIsM in. ^y-1 — q WO, I LL QO HERE IM THE l SwEU. Rfr^MORt HOTEL. ANC k L^R'TE A RtUJ letters = MAKES — TOO LOOK UW A SOME^CDV ' > BE A Place ukethis*’/ CP- AU. &A>& THAT Phccv SPARKE.AUXA HA^TC BE HERE TOO =THE UAV HE S LCCK\nk, v\ *Y HE & UP TC SOME V\^SCHE>AE AGAINST \NE'C vou OCT NE.RVE Tr\ f Al . ii^ ^ come in use vnwui'Hi’ y ,£SKS” .mister | pfc^y°™d