I iinnunoee Iran Tntudar.) Wits «u what happened to you. Tou become "a case.” People thought of you that way ... AH sorts of people. . . . Wondering, prying, gap ing at the windows of you, until you felt like shuttering all the windows of you, so that no one could see in • . . No one. “ . . . and off she goes. Had to. No one held on to her. A good girl, too. If she hadn't been a good girl she'd have known how to trick It out. But the boob of a man—a man's always thinking about himself. Him self. What did he care? When I heard about you I said to myself, who's going to hold Jo Ellen Hewer? Not Marty Simms. Unless somebody holds her, I says, she'dd be over the wall, like Myrtle Fleck, and hell to pay.” "Myrtle Fleck?” Jo Ellen felt eyes behind her, and her glance up the road operated as a suggestion to Em ma. They moved along the path, sauntering closely. “She got away.” said Emma. The story was ready. It was clear that Emma had wanted to tell it. At the end was something that had not been planned. Jo Ellen was sure of that. The beginning had all the ef fect of a narrative eagerly resumed after an interruption. It was of the night Emma was coming up the low er road from the ferry region, In the first of the dark—along about nine. When she came to the Way ward she didn't think of Myrtle. Not this time. She was thinking about her father; whether he would die quickly, when his time came, or make a lot of trouble, so that she’d have to quit her work for McAuley until he was through. She was thinking of the night when he flung her out of the house, and of the finger marks on her neck. Tls was a year before her mother died. “I wasn’t any older than you," said Emma, significantly. Then came the little swish and thud In the dark, and there was Myr tle, crouched against the high wall. Could you beat that? Escaping. Out of the Wayward. But all accounts nobody had been able to do that for a long time. “And there I was think ing about the night I was chucked out.” This seemed to Emma to have a mighty meaning, a meaning that took hold of you. She often thought about the night she was chucked out, but—well, there was Myrtle, scuttling like gome common cat right into a neighbor’s arms, you might say, and pretty well scared while she was doing it. Trembling. She knew Emma Traub before Emma Traub knew her, and It was funny to see her swinging, ready to run, and wanting to know Just whether Emma was for her or against her whether she would tell. ” "Where do you think you're go lng?’ I says. ‘I don’t care,’ she says. •I’m out.’ I took hold of her. 'What do you think you’re going to do?’ she says. I'm fool enough to hide you. 1 eays And I took her along. Slipped New York ••Day by Day . ___j By O. O. McINTYRB. New York, Aug. 16.—Dusk brings a mysterious hush to Broadway. It Ja the hour when the great city pause a—the ghostly gap between the end of the work day and the start of evening pleasnres. The cry of the newsboys, the Jangle of surface cars and the shriek of motors seem stilled. It Is at thla period that the march of Broadway's army of painted ladles begin* the nightly forage for con quests. It la an army eomparlsoned with cheap millinery, cheap Jewlery and reeking with the order of cheap perfume. Lips that will frame the Illicit question are slits of vivid red. Pate cheeks arc brightened. Cosmetics at tempt a mask of indifference. The struggle is for the halo in the night setting Bails for the Broadway aeas and as Jaunty aa a pirate’s brig. During the day they bivouac in the hall rooms of the fading brownstone fronts. Moat of them are friendless save for their eole companions in misery, the white fluffy poodle. Their chief fear is contact with the Great White Way Nemesis—the plain cloth es man. More than one hundred nightly roam Broadway seeking chance "pick ups” to land up in prison cells. They are picked men, handsome and sprightly dressed and are skilled in the art of flirtatious advances. Some have a record of 20 arrests in a night. The Narcotic squad declares more than 50 per cent of the women who walk the streets are drug addicts. Their earnings go to the dope ped dlers who Infest the Longacre Square district. The finish for most of them ia the potter field. Others seek the solace of the river or the poison potion. And always the Broadway laughing waters mock the lips of those who die. Broadway be stows with on# hand and takes away with another. It is the heaven of a million frozen dreams. A New York actor not *o long ago sued a dramatic crltlo for libel. The critic charged In hi* review that the actor was "the world's worst player." A few weeks ago the actor appeared in another performance which the critic had to review. He said of him: "Joe Eppis was not up to his usual standard.” Two acrobats were leaving the stag# entrance of the Palace follow ing their opening act of the bill. The stage doorman said: "Well boys how did you get over?” "We've panicked ’em," wae the reply. In the Tombe the other day I saw a dapper young man, posing aa a rich Englishman, had lured many women to hotel sultea and robbed them of Jewlery and money. Not yet 30 he had served many prison terrna here and in Europe. He had a crooked nose, shifting eye, uneven teeth anid a sallow complexion. Yet he was able to lntereet many charming and beau tlful women. Moat of his victim* admitted they were lonely and ac cep ted his advances for this reason. The man admitted he had never been to school In his life and learned to read and write In prison. I rather warm to the naive ef frontery of a man In Bio da Janero who addresses m« concerning a mag urine article written sometime ago. He writes: "I have read your trashy aVtlficial. Unless you give me tin' pcatit concerning one statement you are a proven liar. I am, my dear sir, your esteemed friend." (Copyrifht. 1**4.) her In. Knew the old man would be •sleep. I wanted to talk to her. Like • fool. You always think you can talk to them. It was risky." Emma turned for an Instant toward Jo El len. “Getting a crook a drink of water was nothing to It. And we sat there In the dark. I talked to her ... in the dark. What I thought was. some body ought to be aide to stop her." "Her father might have stopped tier, If he'd been the right kind." "Her father. Yes. Or a mother either. I ain’t sure. Maybe nothing can stop her. I couldn't see that I made a dent In her. D'you see?—she wanted to laugh because she was out. As If there was nobody to get her. As If she could run downtown ... I got her crying, though, before she went at two In the morning. I had to.” "But—" "I had to. To frighten her.” Jo Ellen saw the fanatic look that was always puzzling. A queer one, Emma was, with her straight hair and her pale hard eyes. Perhaps she would be altogether crazy some day. “Look here!” Emma stopped abrupt ly and dug one heel Into the ground. "How do I know what they'll do with you downtown—you, the way you're fixed now.” “Is this all about me?” Jo Ellen asked. Emma Ignored the resentful Inflec tion. "I got her crying. I told her what I went through. D’you get me? What I went through, down the line. Everything. What it does. You didn't know what bulls and dirks were. You wouldn't naturally. Like any decent girl. Wondering. Well, I know them—see?—the way you get to know them If you stop being de cent." Emma's funny lips twisted savage ly. and Jo Ellen felt suddenly cold. “I got mine,” Emma went on. "I began flinging around llks Myrtle. As if I could look out for myself. When Pop chucked me . . . When you're kicked out you don't care. See'’ When you're a girl. Jo Ellen Rewer thinks she's different. And she ain't kicked out. But she’s up against it. anyhow. She may want to take a fling ... A little one. Down there with the crowd. I know that beat.” The blood came back Into Jo El len’s face. "Lord!" she cried, “you're not real ly warning me, are you?” "I'm telling you. Right now—with your people sitting over there—be cause it’s in my head to tell It to you.” "Drop It off your mind,” Jo Ellen retorted. "Drop It clear off I'm a very busy married woman. I haven't got time to run wild. You talk—” "You don’t need time to be dug out.” "Who's going to dig me out?" "That Lamar might know how. I been thinking maybe he has. I looked him over. 'He'll never stop,' I says—’ "Emma, do you think about noth ing else but things like this?" "O I think! Suppose you'd seen the girl you had watched grow, dropping off the wall, like a common cat—" 'But me. I'm not a common cat Why must T he lectured?" "You got very red hair," said Em ma. "And you ain't really got a hue band." Diagramed In a sentence—very red hair and no real husband. Jo Ellen might have seen It like a chart ns Emma Traub held It up—Emma Traub, who had been "down the line" and quivered with suspicions, who had some Insane Image of a Moloch that swallowed girls. Whichever way you turned there was somebody dan gling a warning. It was a stagger ing joke that gave you a sick feeling at last. Her mother had said “jail. ' Evidently there was no wall she could climb over like Myrtle Fleck. She wanted to scream, to take Emma Traub by her skinny arms and rat tie the bones of her. She wanted to go back to the porch and tell every body that at the first symptom of either pity or advice she would kick the glass out of a few windows. . . . And what made her neck hot was knowing that she wouldn't do any thing at all . . . unless she smashed everything. If Emma Traub had stared after her for a month she never could have arrived at an understanding of what aas going on under that red hair she talked about. Very likely Emma would he feeling as she felt about Myrtle Fleck, that she hadn't made a dent; that Jo Ellen's curt turning sway meant, nothing very different from the shallow effusiveness of the other one; that the Moloch could af ford to hover. Danger. Of course, everybody was In danger. Anybody could act like a fool. Life was always setting nut an assortment of ways. Of course, too, sv^ryb^xly must hnv# 4’n ©xp*‘" Ing point. You went on and on with out exploding. You said you wnukln t explode. It helped you if you planned that you wouldn't. It was like pr< ui lsing yourself that you wouldn’t scream. But there would always be something that you couldn't stand. The Radio Bug’s Bride By Briggs r ■ » i»»11 nil11 . . ■ f-- ■ » l *SBET ___— ■»,»»»» r *° A PIERCING SHRIEK RANG THROUGH THE MANSION AS MADELINE DISCOVERED TO HER HORROR THAT HER HUSBAND WITH WHOM SHE HAS JUST BE I N UNITED IN WEOLOCK HAS AN [APPETITE FOR THE RADIO... ALAS* IT IS TOO LATE FOR SHE b FETTERED TQ THE HOUND FOR LIFE. \ If you were strapped Into a torture machine there would be the last thing, happening slowly or surpris ing you, that would do the business . . . the last thing that would make you give up, that would make you shriek out to Circumstances, "You win!" If you let Circumstances win— well, then you would look like Emma Traub, for instance, and be full of slanting suspicions and philosophies, and idiotic worries about girls. . . . Billy. Here was Billy, scouting to see what you were up to. And back on the porch the conspiracy to let you alone was so beautifully complet ed that you could see It shining like a newly scrubbed stove. XV. Because It was Sunday night Mrs. Simms was not sewing, for the same reason Simms senior varied his formula and made no nine o'clock exit. The three seemed to have fin lshed every function and indulgence possible to the day save that of hear ing Jo Ellen tell about Inwood. And by the time she reaehed the roof, telling about Inwood, was, of all con ceivable things, the one that came hardest. Jo Ellen herself appeared to be measured in every comment. Mrs. Simms' face said: ''We'll see how she puts It!" It was Marty who asked. "Old you hear anythin* more about Myrtle Fleck?" Mrs Simms listened with pinched lips. "I'm sorry for that girl." said Dan iel Simms. "You needn't be." dripped the i<-y voice of Mrs. Simms. “She s a nat ural strumpet.'' "If she is,”. Jo Ellen appeakd. "shouldn't we be sorry?" (To B* Continued Monday.) THE NEBBS AH! THE REAL MANAGER ON THE JOB. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess ~ I A*; 55.I -te^ssaftB y WC WANT A6\RV_TODO \ / GENERAL OVTlCE WORK - TRE N 3 / WORX VS MOT ME AW AND TRE \ / ROUCS ACE EQOM 910 5- NOON | ^~WE 'SPEA^^TO \ THAN SHE DOES AQOOT A UP- / J Ron VOU HER - AND 'I c-nrw-oq TuRvsnG \RON y ^ BOW ShE LL NCW TOO D PEWTER TELL HER CNEP/ ‘ .THE PHONE J Barney Google and Spark Plug BARNEY IS VERY MUCH FOR “GOING WEST.” Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck (Copyright 1924) fill ftl6.Hr BARGM. Them or * au. SermEO . spark , piud RA«C* Ncxjft WC.RSS* >M ¥ BRINGING UP FATHER r~ 7--— ■ 1 ■ .—_ , Registered SEE JIGGS AND MAGGIE IN FULL U. S. Patent Offlc# PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManu* (Copyright 1924) WELL-lTt) t?ATURDAV AN' ( A.LL THE C.AN<^ ARE OUT Of* TOWN THERE't) NO -V-PL-^CE TO C.O - bO [71/v/^ »li_ HOME_ HAVE A MICE Quiet r,e^t all ArTERHOON - V__ | a m I M Wk9M> U_ «■'« • C >»2« »> l«u F*»tu«* Scwvice Inc Cre»t Bnt».n rifbtl rrtervrd. JEKKY ON THE JOB THE GENEROUS UNCLE JAKE. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban (Copyright 1924) ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield That'a Going Soma, 4 j \F "foU CAM UMW'THEM |p, lUCTH A EEARto, ■* -V ^CU CAM KOLt> 'TUem /; : SHAVE — s,-- - - ' V