JO ELLEN
By ALEXANDER BLACK• copyright. i»:«.
_1_i
(Continued From Ymtardav.t
Arnold Pearson and Ben Bogert had
helped with the moving. Arnold took
tho responsibility of Marty quite to
himself. His first notion was that he
should wheel Marty the whole way.
It would be a stunt.
"We'd get a lot of fun out of it,”
he said.
But counsel prevailed against such
an adventure. The cab appeared as
more practical. There was a story in
ths cab journey, on the evening be
fore the day of the moving van.
They had been bumped by a giant
truck that utterly wrecked the cab
without, it seemed, doing worse than
astonish the two who were inside.
Transferring Marty to another cab, in
particular getting him free of the
wrecked one, was lively material for
narrative.
When Jo Ellen entered her changed
home Marty was sitting expectantly
at a window that opened upon the
southern sky. The rooms were blaz
1ugly bright compared with the Nine
teenth street flat, despite the stuffy
curtains and lowered shades.
There was the luxurious smell of
a prepared dinner. Simms senior re
quired a good deal of steak and
onions. These proclaimed themselves.
“We waited the limit,” said Mrs.
Simms when she saw Jo Ellen. “Fath
er Isn't much on waiting for meals."
“You're just in time," Marty an
nounced.
XI.
Jo Ellen scurried to the completion
of any unfinished details at the table.
“You might carry In those pota
toes," and Mrs. Simms, after a last
critical jab at tho steak, indicated
with a fork the dish in the open gas
*bvcn. ,
The dinner dishes being disposed or,
Marty displayed the ingenious run
way his father had called the car
penter to build, by which the wheel
chair could slip over the sill and
step at the main roof door. The sky
was overcast, but the panorama of
the bay and rivers swung awesomely.
At sundown a scarlet streak over
New Jersey cut through the purple
of the sky. The parapet was like
the bulwarks of a ship that sailed
through misty splendors.
north rolled the wave lines of Man
hattan, in enormous slaty swirls,
breaking here at the south Into' a
surf of roofs whose spray glittered
against the clouds, the whole fixed
as in some cataleptic crisis of a
dream. The spectacle hurried Jo El
len's breath. She embarked anew. . ■ ■
— 1 *" s
»
New York
--Day by Day
/
*■ —————
By O. O. McINTVRK.
New York. Aug. 13<—The y»P
wagon barker* finally landed me. I
never pass their Broadway stands un,
noticed. Their passengers are recruit
ed from those who wear suspenders,
vest pocket toothbrush, barrel cuffs
• and shoestring ties.
I had left a restaurant In Times
Square and was standing on the curb
thumbing my arm pits when a vase
lined youth sidled up to me: “Going
right out. Mister! Fast car to Chlna
town and the Bowery!" Then in an
Insinuating whisper: “See the wicked
’ side of a great city!”
T paid my dollar and sat among the
patient women “decoys” who Unit
until the sightseeing tour starts, then
thev alight and wait for Its return.
Hokum is the barker's credo. He
gives a rasping glamor to a prosiac
tour as he buttonholes visitors from
Hinky Dink, Kan., and Big Pump.
Neb.
One hour after I purchased my
ticket tlie “grand tour" started. The
barker became the megaphone ci
cerone and sat up front. As we
swung down lower Broadway he said:
•■We are leaving the Great White
Way. Kach light represents a broken
heart." His voice was loud and xylo
phonic.
On Fourteenth street he pointed out
Tammany Hall with: “That s the
place where they make president*,
senators and govenors." His Bowery
knowledge is like the vicar’s egg, a
hit rotten in spots. He pointed out
McGulrk's Suicide Hall ilve blocks
before we came to it.
' The Bowery," he said, “is the
home of thugs and thieves. Not a
day goes by without a series of
murders. It Is the wickedest place In
ibd world.” The Bowery has fewer
murders, black jacking and thieving
than any other section of the city
utherwlso In? was the precisionlst.
The “opium den” in Chinatown
was a prop affair, no doubt, maintain
ed by the sightseeing agency. Sprawl
ed out one of the bunks was a thin
fellow, his face painted a gastly yel
low. He was dreamily puffing a long
pipe which contained, no doubt, bull
_ durham.
When I told the yap wagon barker
I thought I would return to the mid
town by subway he said: “All right
do so at your own risk.” He was so in
earnest about it that he almost had
ms walking in the middle of the
street—looking back every fifth step.
The trouble with the men who bal
lyhoo for sightseeing tours is they
regard every fare a* a “sucker." As
a matter of fact the passenger en
joys a long and comfortable ride at
the cheapest price in town outside of
the subway and elevated. New York
■ophistlcates may attribute dull
mindedness to those who are patron*
of the rubberneck carts but I know no
better way to enjoy a trip to the
Bowery, Chinatown or Coney Island.
Kven If you do not believe the barker
he is amusing.
The man who is considered ihs
most expert turf writer in New York
lias never wagered a penny on the
ponies. He Is a native of Kentucky
and learned early to admire fine
horse flesh. He has picked out the
highest average of winners In town
and statisticians have figured out
that a $10 bet a day for any month
In the year on almost any race
would have made a small for
tune. The expert says that once he
became a turf gambler his judgment
might win for a while,” he said, but
In the end I would lose." And he
adds: “No one has ever successfully
beat the ponies. It can't be done."
It ran t be done.”
The Algonquin remains the haunt
of the young Intellectuals. They are
there every noonday wisecracking
about the whence of the how or the
Hewer economics in Hither Tndla. The
young Isdy Intellectuals have I heir
lorgnettes to lift at the circular hair
cut. •
(Covy right. 1
There were many things to be don*
on this first evening, tor there was
the reconciling of the furnitdtre ol
two households—the elemental outfit
of the newlyweds, and the parents!
accumulations with their sanctioned
ugliness.’’ Of mere space there was
plenty, tor the apartment seemed tc
nave an extraordinary multiplication
of rooms, some of them occupied only
by barrels and left-overs. Yet placing
anything appeared to challenge some
thing else. Even in what had beer
Marty’s room, which was now to be
his and Jo Ellen's, there were deli
cate questions. His mother thought
the bed already there was better than
their new one, Jo Ellen did not think
so, but Marty had agreed with his
mother before the time cnme for Jc
Ellen’s opinion, and Jo Ellen decided
to evade debate. Marty liked his old
bureau. There was, however, room
for the new dresser also, so that this
could be reserved for Jo Ellen.
Before each decision Marty hovered
in a flushed excitement, his eves mov
ing apprehensively from Jo Ellen tc
his mother. His mother was very
sparing of words, but Jo Ellen found
that her silence could sometimes push
harder than anything said. You nl
ways knew what she favored or didn’t
favor.
Father Simms Tjad no opinions on
furniture beyond/the special stuffed
leather chair he sat in. After finish
ing two evening papers and most of
a large black cigar, he asked amiably
whether there was anything he could
shove around by way of experiment,
remarking, at the same time, that
one of the men would be up in the
morning to make final disposition of
the heavier stuff as the critics might
elect. At nine o'clock he went off to
a political club that often engaged the
second half of his evening.
“Isn’t this a great view?” cried
Marty at their Mdroom window.
"Wonderful,” Jo Ellen admitted.
He held her hand while they peered
toward the bay, then placing an arm
about her hips. Her waist was high
from his position in the chair.
"I’d bet big money you’re going to
like it here.”
Evidently he might be thinking
mostly about the view. She couldn't
be sure. Meanwhile the elements of
their first home were scattered. You
might say that their first home was
quite rubbed out. He seemed to be
vastly impressed by the recovery of
his old bureau. There were other
texts fer elation. ,
“Do you know,” he said, "I'm go
ing to restring the old fiddle, and
have the piano tuned.”
He noticed that she did not respond
quickly, and opened his lips with a
questioning sign, then thought better
of comment. He would not ask her
to get the fiddle strings; hut he
should have them.
"I'm going to help Pop jylth his
books,” he added.
"That’s fine,” said Jo Ellen. There
could be no doubt of her satisfaction.
This at least had gone over big. He
elaborated the Idea of helping his
father, as If to follow up a good Im
pression; yet he soon discovered by
oblique scrutiny, that she was prob
ably not hearing him.
"Guess you feel a little strange
here, this first night,” he said.
She turned away from the window
to busy herself again.
"Funny thing”—she spoke from the
region of her dresser—‘T was just
thinking of Myrtle Fleck.”
"Cooling off in the Wayward.”
“Locked up like a criminal.”
"Do you mean she really oughtn’t
to be there?”
“I mean I’m awfully sorry.”
Marty grunted. It was a sound
strangely suggestive of some sound
his mother made. "She's just a little
tart. You're foolish to be sorry for
her.”
Jo Ellen turned with a frown and
the touch of color under the eyes
that usually halted him.
“I'm sorr# for anybody who's locked
up."
"O, well”—he reached down to pull
off the slippers from his limp feet—
"they'll probably be sorry and get
her out.” He seemed to have a fresh
thought, with his head bent over, and
looked up quickly. “That's why you’re
sorry for me, isn't it?”
“We're both sort of locked up.”
"Not you!” He was holding a slip
per and staring. "Not you. You're
free. I’m the one. You don't appre
elate being free. That’s what I think
sometimes. You don't appreciate it.
Suppose your legs—”
“I don’t think we ought to quarrpl
on our first night in this house.” Jo
Ellen spoke with a desperate quiet.
“Who’s quarreling? I'm just tell
ing you how you are—that ft s me
that’s locked up.”
“I know.”
"Locked up. And you can gel
away. Get away to mix with a crowd
that doesn’t think of people like me
a crowd thiit’s changing you—”
Jo Ellen caught him by the shoul
der. “If you don’t want to change
me you’d better—”
They both heard the sound at the
Second Honeymoons
I
You Brute! '» reallv think
Youl> LET ME. OROUJN
ITV5 JUST A MIRACLE. Th^-T
(Vjdidn:
st_
i
■■■■■■■■MaHIHHHHHHHHHHHBnBHBHBHMHj Eg
partly open door. Mrs.' Simms stood
at the sill.
"Are you two wrangling?"
Marty's face took on an expression
of fright.
"Wrangling! O no! We were only
—only discussing something. That's
all."
*'I see.” Mrs. Simms’ voice struck
Jo Ellen as clammy. It trailed off as
it to express apology, or as If it were
in passing.
The Interruption reduced Marty to
dumbness. The look of fear was slow
to fade out.
On the following day Jo Ellen was
able to leave the office at five rf’clock,
and reached the roof early enough
to join her mother-in-Utw in the prep
aration of the dinner. Her assistance
seemed to be taken for granted, and
to give great satisfaction to Marty.
The picture of wife and mother bus
ied in the evocation of a meal lm
pressed him as beautiful. It was the
birthday of Simms senior, and the
father brought forth a bottle of rye
whisky from the house stock to which
he was constantly making sacramen
tal additions. Marty’s eyes glistened
at sight of the bottle. Hlmins cor
dially reviewed the group as he com
merited on the superior quality of
the liquor—the real Imported stuff
such as you couldn't expect from the
ordinary bootleggers. Simms took hts
own drink neat. Marty concocted a
highball in which there was a strong
Infusion. Mrs. Simms accepted a
slender allowance. When Simms lift
ed hi* eyebrow* at Jo Ellen and mada
a gesture with the bottle. Marty in
terjected an assurance that Jo Ellen
never tasted liquor.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow )
Fetching little handkerchief* hav«
a pocket for a tiny powderpuff.
THE NEBBS
HORATIO, THE DEMON WATCHDOG
Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess
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UJTWOUt A TOP COAT ME fcOWY
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