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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 30, 1924)
j (Continued From Yesterday'.) Perhaps it was true that the strong did not have sins, but only follies. It was pitiful that sin should so often get their label from the out ward consequence. The brushed had no benefit of the doubt. If there was consequence there was sin. Then earn# the added collective conse quences. If your dirsct punishment hurt others also, the others had their reasonable complaint. The sin took on the dimensions of all the effects. Uncle Ben had said it: Nothing more should be piled on. The argument was excellent. " In their room she stood behind his chair and spoke quietly. She tried to fancy herself as a mature woman addressing an injured child; or if not that, at least as a woman in the presence of a lesser strength. , "Uncle Ben has told me every thing—" £he began. Marty would not have It this wray. He wrenched the chair around and seized her. "Look here! I told him—yes. But I got to tell you. How do I know? Llstenl I—” "You haven’t got to tell me. That was your affair—’’ This caught In her throat, but she went on. "What you did before you married me—how can I go Into that! How can any woman do that? But after you mar ried me—you were hurt after you married me. I don't take back any thing. The way things are—that's what we have to go on. The way they are. We have to make the best of it. The best—don’t you see? Wc rnn’t do anything with what happened before. No use going Into what hap pened before. We don't need to make it any harder. If you—’’ He began to sob and to make pat ting motion* with the hand* that held her. "O Jo Ellen!" "Our living together ja our affair now, and—’’ -You mean It Isn't Mother’s?” ■ "Or my mother’s,” Jo Ellen re turned firmly. "You’re right, Jo Ellen. You re right. You're wonderful!” "No, I’m not wonderful. I’m a pretty cheap Imitation of anything wonderful. I’m only—” The crisp call pierced the closed door. . , "I’ll see w'hat she wants, said .To Ellen. She hurried to Mrs. Simms’ room, and met the eyes that seemed to be reaching far forward like prongs. "A glass of water, please. Why did It make Jo Ellen’s heart beat violently to go after the glass of water? Were hearts good at guessing? ... . A gesture directed the placing of f -\ New York '--Day by Day v_-' b> o. o. McIntyre. New York. Aug. 30.—Manhattan Ib filled with swindling little jewelry shops. They are bandbox affairs just big enough for a small stock and two salesmen. Customers are lured In by the gaudy window displays that her ald amazing prices. If your eye Is taken by an article In the window you learn that It has been sold and there are no more In stock. So they attempt to sell you something else. Business, they say, Is always bad and they are forced to raise money by selling under the cost price. There are whispered Implications that many of the articles are thieves’ loot. Then there Is the old dodge that payments have been made on articles and not taken and the customer Is to receive the benefit of these pay ments. Peculiarly enough these highjack ing shops thrive on the credulity of New Yorkers. The so called yokel never patronizes them. The propile tors have an amazing tenacity. There Is an 111 luck superstition among them about permitting a customer to leave without purchase. Languid clerks and cash girls go to these places for baubles to brighten drab lives. Hundreds of them are In duced by the false dazzle to make first payments and later regret, hut they are never able to get their money back. I stepped into one the other day to replace a broken watch crystal. Before I departed the salesman had tried to sell a paste diamond bar pin, a new watch, a strand of pearls, a shirt stud set, a gold knife and a traveling clock. Two hours after I left the place the watch had stopped. It was taken to a first class establishment. The watchmaker said someone had re moved a bit of the works. I have suspicions. Lean days have come to Tin Pan Alley. The radio has cut royalties on songs to almost nothing. A composer and lyricist who used to make from *20,000 to $50,000 on royaltlea Is lucky now to make $200 a week. Many song writer* 'are going Into other work. Big publishing houses are cutting down their staffs to half the usual size. There is a composer who has two song hits this summer. In bet ter days he would have made $100,000 easily. Now he estlmaies his profits at about $15,000, Tin Pan Alley does not expect to oome back. The biggest publishers are adjusting themselves to newer eondltlons. Even the Jangle of the many planoe In th# beehive of com partments has grown dim. New Yorkers specialize In "reac tion.” One Is continually being asked his reaction to this or that. The word Is as much overworked as the Word "moron” among the Intellectuals, I am always a shade self-conscious when asked about my reactions. Briefly I am one of those dolls who never react. Harry Houdlnl, the handcuff king, lives up on West 113th street. He Is the Idol of the boys In the neighbor hood. For he mingles with them and does some of his trlcka now and them. Seven babies In the neighbor hood are named for him. A tough lad from the East Side went Into one of the cafes with his "skolt.” He naked for two glasses of water and when brought to him took two sandwiches from Ills pocket and began to eat. The manager earns up and said “What 1s th# big idea!" “Who ere you?” sold th# lad. “I’m the manager.” “You’re just th# fellow I want to see. Why Isn’t your orchestra play ing?" (Copyright, 1934.) the glass on the table beside the bed. "If you’re slamming him,” said Mrs. Simms, “you'd better under stand—” "I’m not slamming him.” "I don’t know what you'd call It. Your uncle pumping him, and now you here full of it. Y'ou people may think you can Jump on him. I won’t have It. Ycu might as well under stand that.” Jo Ellen set her teeth. “You’re Jumping on me.” “I’m standing up for him. His fath er won’t see anything. He won’t see that the poor wretch is being bounded.” ”1 was only saying . . .” Jo Ellen gulped down the hot words she didn’t want. “I was only saying that we must work It out—together.” “I knew you were lecturing him. A mother gets things like that. I knew It. Telling him where he gets off. Exactly. Just what would make it nice and comfortable for you. Exactly." Jo Ellen quivered. If you said a certain sort of word everything would corns to an end. You had to think of that. A braid of Mrs. Simms’ thin hair, terminating In a sharp wisp, lay straight out on the pillow. You could take hold of that and pull her out of bed, then stand over her and tell her where she got off. But people who were In bed weren’t treated that way. It couldn't be done. Nothing could be done. Y'ou had to keep on letting thoughts like that tear around inside of you, until your Insides were sore, and do nothing. . . . “YVhat did she want?” asked Marty. “A drink of water.” He was not satisfied. "Did she say —anything?” "She said I was not to lecture you.” He gaped at her tears . . . and watched her throw herself face down ward on the bed. VII. Mrs. Simms was better In the morning. Marty looked from one to the other of the two who had wrestled the night before. This looking from one to the other had become a habit. Jo Ellen wondered whether Mrs. Simms had noticed it. Mrs. Simms never appeared to notice anything, but much was to be deduced from her faculty for knowing things. If she knew that Marty watched them both, what did she think It meant? Did she know how much Marty drank? What sort of talk went on between them when Jo Ellen was not there? In the evening Marty tuned up his violin, twisting the little pegs, with a flushed face. This meant that Jo Ellen was to attempt accompaniments on the old, frightfully-out-of-tune piano. A man in a wheel chair might have been a good musician. There were a hundred tine things a man might do in a wheel chair. . . . He might really have kept his father’s books as he had promised. ... Jo Ellen remembered a man in a wheel chair behind the counter of a little jeweler's shop, a man with an ex traordinarily radiant smile and eve« that made you understand that all poets do not write poetry. This man s poems were hammered out, filed and twisted info exquisite whimsies of gemmed metal, Into necklaces that had a music. Into rings over which he hovered as if all were somehow to be worn by the One Girl. He was Indeed, a surprisingly sunny man The sun in him seemed to have brok en through a tempest. It shone on the trinkets. Y'ou couldn't tell wheth er the light came from them or from him. He loved the things so much you almost dreaded to buy them. It was as If you might be Inflicting a kind of bereavement. Yet he had a way of app^iring to decide that you could be trusted with the treasures— you, In particular. . . . Marty plucked the things thickly. And when he began to play the note was his thin, uncertain note. The In termezzo. And The Evening Star. Jo Ellen, with her back to him, felt the thin wall writhing its way to her nerves. A taut silk thread drawn back and forth over the skin could soon show blood. These sounds rasped with a persistence that was delicately horrible. The sheets be fore her squirmed and^blurred. Hei fingers fumbled. ‘ You’ll have to practice up,” sug gested Marty, struggling again with the pegs. "You need a little practice your self.” added Daniel Simms from be hind his evfning paper. "Of course,” said Marty. "I'll have to get It out tomorrow.” "I couldn’t stand much of It,” re marked Mrs. Simms. ■‘Oh!’’—Marty blinked at his moth er. He went on defiantly, with a sullen expression. The next piece broke down In the middle. "Why don't you try something with a little life In it?” demanded Daniel Simms. "Makes me think of a funeral." “You’re not very encouraging." said Mrs. Simms. Simms chuckled, and hit at his cigar. "You’re nqt so UT ft*.. * ri * damned encouraging youraeuf, mother.” Jo Ellen braced herself. "Why not try this—?” But Marty was putting away the violin, with no further word. His acrid silence might have Implied that everybody was turning on him. In the Interval before bedtime he con trived to console himself with whis ky. The exhaled fumes were easily to be detected In their room. This odor had not been sickening at Amy Leaning's party. Here It was like the smell of a soul rotting. Marty breathed guiltily. “I wish you wouldn’t drink that stuff,” said Jo Ellen quietly, though she regarded him with a kind of ter ror. "O now!” He swung his head. "What’s a drink?” He was remember ing that she had been game about the music. "What’s a drink once In a while? A drink. What life do I have? You don't think of that. No body does." "Your once In a while Is getting to be pretty often.” He stared at her with a twisted grin. "Careful now! You’ll be lectur ing me!" Nevertheless, her eyes per plexed him. "What do you think about when you look that way?” It was plain that this question had been hanging in his mind. Her imagination took a sheer leap. "Suppose I said I was thinking about the high place?” “The high place?’’ It was a gasp She had Jolted him for the moment She could eee him groping out of the whisky fumes, back through the crazy tangle to the clear open height She saw him wince and waver, and she was traversing spates herself. (To H* Continue*! Monday.) THE NEBBS PLEASED TO MEET YOU EMMA Directed for The Omaha 15ee by ool rieis tiODV WAS JUST ^POOLING . FANNW ABOUT A MOT CHECKING THE TRUNKS W || HE NOT ONLTp^f CHECKED THE TRUNKS BUT MAD THE KEVS IN HVS Pocket that Sue thought SUE HAD LEFT UO^E- ON The dresseq rt « . NDU Gar LOTS or Nice DRESSES W' i Didn’t ^ you ww so^ BACH — SyLvnPk CkPPLE&EE.SWD/§| (T"5 % rATTOftNEM MvBUCK SA\D MOU COULO Vf OMLM AFFORD TO Pam 8>Q a WEEK FOR V"': A UvftED GlRL -1 BET IF L HAD KMEw M MOO UAO SO M\AMM CLOTHES 10 UAV/C STOCK OOT ro« N«ME OR TEH DOLLARS \ n - e>0T SMLM\fA APPLEBCE SAMS Sot^E V PEOPLE POTS EUEPMTUlNG QM THOR SACKS/; "\J/ Y /CM SMCS ANOTWtH D-U X / n'XAID tM TOWM - STILL ALT' ' BgG\OOT AMO MOPING ACjATHST' HOPE - I WAS ENGAGED TtaMCC -OmCE TO CARL stamm but ME WAS SO UE ALOL)S l COULDN'T LOOK AT AMT boot - AMO TUB OTNBRTVfABTO LUCAS POLLOCK _LB.PT TOW/M TO SEER t i mts eoptumb amo t Guess J \mBS STILL SBEVOMGTT Barney Google and Spark Plug WANTED—COLD ACCOMMODATIONS _Dr«wn for The Om»h« b~ by Billy DeB«ck JfA TELLING YOU. SUNSHINE. THIS MEMPHIS RAGE NEXT WEEK IS AU \ (WRONG* EMERYBCOV .KNOWS THAT MY •SPARKY Will. BEAT THAT RUSSIAN <MAG or YOURS -* TROTS*I* %t NO OOOO IN THIS HOT WEATHER I YOU OUGHT To KNOW THAT | HE WAS BORN IN SIBERIA WHERE ITS CCID AS KEtSGY-S let Bo* - that nag or Yours will melt #m That Memphis giimate I VviCLC. ^WEeTMEftRT. C VE DOME ALL £ eoULO -TWAT-EK-JCRKO OF OURS \S AS OUMQ AS A MEW eop - POOR TttoTSkl f »f ue Gen Sum struck SUNSMIMC UULL WAViE. "The WUMAME SoeiRTv PATTfM<» *WM «nTmE Face u/tw a spac* King Features SywfutU, Inc. Great Britain riyhte reserved COME ON.'mciTSKI. AHM TAKIW.NO CHANGES VMF Voo -=■- Uwice D»S HOT SPEU. CASTS AHN Gonna make Arrangements Fo' NO- FO- A Astw Boding _ 3 V BRINGING UP FATHER Registered SEE JIGCS AND MAGGIE IN FULL U. S. Patent Office PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY DEE Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus (Copyright 1924) WELL *1 6UEbb I LL VTAV . IN THIb EVENIN’ - IT’b NICE TO e>E HOME WITH YOOR FAMILY- yj| || ^ <TT| ** IV/ELL' C*OOD tSICHT* DAOOT- I’M CjOlNC, TO THE THEATRE WITH BOB AMD TO A J CABARET AFTER’ \ f M-U ‘' ^ht - _£? . I y—\ rrmr vim to Call j Ots IMR<b tMlYH • j FOP. CCOONE.*o*3 • DON'T AN"< e,OOY VV NT 'TO ‘bTA.'Y IN T -|^HOUtE. ? ME-OW! V_*-s,-' © 1924 mr _Grot Bntin right* rofrvrd JERRY ON THE JOB THE RETORT SWAUKING Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban (Copyright 1924) f PA$i MAOtW Otff /MO GUt- J [ 'TUppewos uckcta.op Stamp J \ ok>^s* SbtAP «p Paper- j \ ="Twe>j Ijn rr u r \ 'THE MAU.&OV. _/ A-^MEAvJ \ I0& / <3rr cut 'russi ^ 00 VlUTf Voim 'To.O AiO Oo rr Qu'CX !’.'. 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