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 <wm ■ i~r»1 ■1 i r|~ 1 1 ' .nr....... > . . ■
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
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/ GENERAL OVTlCE WORK - TRE N 3
/ WORX VS MOT ME AW AND TRE \
/ ROUCS ACE EQOM 910 5- NOON |
^~<ri SATUR-DAVS -TvaJO VajLEVCS, VACATION /
3a \AjrfH PAN — I'M MOT A MAR.D / ,
MASTER ANO I TRUNK NOU'LL r \
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/ HEGES “THE G\RL WOU WANT A S _ ' N -T
-*»■ / A GOOD SENSMiLt GiRL THKT ) /VOUTELLT^T \A/(mitf.LL \
/ WONT SPEND HALF THE DAW { / WIFE OF TOURS V, JT JM^-A
\ ns FRONT of A t^uRROR —SHE WO (*MND HER OWN \ MER-IM NOT \
KNOWS tWORE A^OOT A PEN / BUSINESS — S>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__
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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
