(Continued From Saturday.) The captain received them on deck; he was a jolly, plumu, pink faced man. Kit was cheered, an'1 e en saluted first, which he had had no idea of doing. The captain im mediately took him Into ilia office, nlone, and asked to be told all about it Kit told him, not hesitating to describe the more important of liis mental processes. The Briton, for getting for the moment that he was n captain of one of ilia Majesty’s ships, responded like a boy to a de tcctlve story. “I say!” be burst out after lialf an hour. “This is the best yarn 1 ever heard in my life! Simply top ldng! Something new in Soutli Sea adventures, what? I never saw any ‘me who had such a sense of form. crs-ifn, now, the last touch' .lolly good, jolly good! And that place up north; all quiet now?” "Ves. But I had to kill a white man to make it so.” "Quite right, quite right. You were the government; and you had to do it, for the sake of peace. See here, I shall be glad to write a word about that, if I find your story is supported by the natives, as I don't doubt it will be. You might like It to show your people, what? And I say, Mr. Newell, the only reason I didn't give you your twenty-one guns ns you came out was because I wanted to find out more about It first. But we'll give them to you— by Jove, yes!” "Thank you,” said Kit, smiling. "I hope you’ll give warning first, or the natives wall think they're go ing to he killed." At lunch, which he took alone with the Captain and the Executive Offi cer, he took his own turn at ask ing questions. The war, he learned, was over; the Peace Conference in session and President Wilson in Paris. It had been as he supposed about Nairava. more trouble than it was worth. For long it had not even been known that the Germans had left; now that things were being set tled it was of course unthinkable to let them have It again. "And now,” said Kit at last, will vpu take me away? And before you take me away, will you take pos session?” “Yes, to be sure. Under man date.” “What’s that?” “Ob, it's tlie new way of doing ( New York --Day by Day V___* By O. O. McINTYRE New York, Nov. 16.—A pag'o from the diary of a modern Samuel Pepys: I p and found my desk high with mail and fell to it with eagerness. To breakfast wlitli Roy Howard and envious of his checked collar but held my tongue. Afterward to an Inn and met Mel ville Davisson Post, the tayle writer, and found him agreeable but Lord, how much slighter In stature than 1 imagined. And he talked of cat tle raising and how also he is rais ing polo ponies at his farm at Lost Creek, W. Va. Walked through the town in the brave sunshine and put in for a while to see Ray Rohn, the lim ner, and he tells me of the new baby girl at his Philadelphia home and I fashioned a telegram to his wife. In the evening with my wife to an Hungarian cafe where a long haired gypsy violinist played the sweetest tunes ever I heard and for three hours we sat enthralled. So home very late and to bed. One of the best known men In New York Is "Rig Bill” Egan, sta tion master at the Pennsylvania sta tion. He has been with the road for more than 40 years and has per haps the most penetrating, boom ing voice in America. For years and years he has been watching with observing nnd philosophic eye the ever flowing stream of humanity that passes through tho gates of railway stations, lie has saved from despair many who found them selves broke and far from home. He says he has never lost a penny loaning money to those who needed it . "Big Bill” has been a friend of presidents and hundreds of other prominent men. Another figure about New York railroad terminals is a red cap at the Grand Central who is known as Black Eli. He is a grinning Ethiop ian who bubbles good nature. He makes it a rule to carry baggage for elderly ladies free. He lias been do ing it for years. Ilis reason is sound ' and wholesome. “Once," lie said, "my ole hla'-k mammy came to New York and lost her purse. A white man took care of her until 1 could come on from the south. I am just trying to do as I \yas done by.” And where will ono find more romance than about the great rail road terminals? Hours may he spent there in pleasant retrospection. Humanity is keyed to a high‘pitch The thrill of travel is in the blood. One sees young married folks on their honeymoon journeys. Weeping men nnd women called homo by tragedy. Mon off on mighty missions. Immigrants starting for wheatfields with worldly possessions in bandana handkerchiefs. Stage troupers off for the kerosene clrcuts. New arrivals who have their first glimpse of fhe metropolis. The brisk young men who so nonchalantly answer the thousand and one questions a day nt the depot information bureaus are almost In variably boys from small 'towns. Yet they seem more like New York ers than any class I know. A poll during a lull revealed that eight of them came from cities of less than 4 0 00 population. Until they enmo to New York six had never been beyond the confines of their own county. Charlie Lawler, who is now blind nr.d more than 70 years old, wrote the song that mfikes nil New York sing—“The Sidewalks of New York.” He thought of it ono night when coming homo from a beef steak dinner nnd the next day set il to music. Despite the fa-'t that if i* the ono song sure to inspire n New York crowd, Lawler never realised more than 1300 profits from it. The song that made the greatest fortune • of all. incidentally wits "Alexander’s Ragtime Band" by Irving Berlin. I these things. It's the new name for a colony. Your President had some thing to do with It." "I'd hoped." Kit said, "that tills place would he included with the Crown Colony of the Cine is-lai^Is. That would scent tho most sensible thing to do." "Exactly: but we don't do tho sen sible thing any more. AVe do—ex cuse me—the democratic thing." "Oil!" Perhaps Kit did not quite excuse him, perhaps hi thought too much about mere words; perhaps lie did not realize how much of a little tin god oven tho best hearted Brit ish captain must be on his own sjiip. Nothing had been said, lie remem bered, about taking possession till he himself mentioned it; it was a lit tle like taking tilings for granted. AVell, he was in a position tQ put on a little "side" himself. "Very well.” he said dryly. "I’il make out my act of abdication, and when you’ve shown me your creden tials we can go before the Councils, and fix it all up.” Captain Fiske-Dunning had no idea how to he indignant, and be came rather pathetic in his attempt. His good-natured pudgy face grew red and strained, and he stam mered. "AVhat? AVhat’s all this? Credentials? Good heavens, sir, do you suppose a British cruiser goes scouring about without orders?” "Not for a moment,” said Kit, smiling. “Well, I am ordered to put these islands under mandate for Great Britain. You're not going to object, are you?” "I am not,” said Kit. "I’ve wished you were here every day since I came. But these people have chosen me as their government, and there’s a certain form—isn’t there?—about putting one government under an other. AVouldn’t I be treating your government in an Irregular—even a somewhat disrespectful—manner if I didn’t ask to see the documents? Or are you here under verbal orders?” The Captain gave a clearing splut ter, then laughed. "Right you are, old man, right you are. Jove. I said you had an eye for form!" He went to a desk and after spme fumbling produced a piece of paper. “There you are, sir, most Irregular, against all orders. But Whitehall didn’t know there was a king involved, what?” Kit in return offered to lay before him all the documents of his reign, including his own diary, as an earn est of good faith. The Captain was surprised and delighted to learn that he had kent records of everything; drew Kit out on the matter and burst out in new enthusiasm. "I say, T should like to look over all that! I shall, tomorrow, morn ing, if you'll allow me. And I shall tell Tucker to pay particular atten tion to all you’ve done, and carry on in the same way. as far as possible. Daws, what? All drawn up and docketed—one pigeonhole for passed hills and another for unpassed ones? Ha! Topping under-secretary you’d make!” “Under secretary!” said Kit, laugh ing. "I’ve been every secretary in the whole blooming cabinet!" "So you have, and Jolly good ones too, I'm sure. Jolly good, Jolly good!” Arrangements were made; Kit was told that he could have that day and the next for ceremonies and festiv ities, and they would sail the follow ing evening for Suva. He would have a ruoio that night for the vis itors. and call a meeting of the two Councils for the next afternoon. "D'.vou know,” said Fiske-Dunning In a burst of confidence as they parted, "when the fellows first told me there was a Yankee running things here I was no end worried. But now, though I haven’t a par ticle of evidence for your good in tentions, beyond your bare word. I’m perfectly sure that you're one of the best, and have done as well here as any man posslbjy could, and a damned sight better than most. I'm proud to have met you, Mr. Newell —I would say, A'our Majesty!” VIII. Once more Kit lay on the lagoon beach and listened to the enchanting rhythms of the ruoio. A'enus flared transiently over Naituvi, Canopus blazed to the left. The northeast trades filtered coolly through the palm trees. Sweetly, sweetly rose and fell the fountains of his thought. He had ruled seven hundred people for seven months, and had not done it badly. Perhnps it was opportunity's favor, the familiar one of war and didvided leadership; he had used opportunity and had not shirked. He had not be eome drunk with fortune and power; lie had not made a fool of himself. And now it was over. lie forgot polygamy, forgot sardines; the task was finished, and he might go Sirius beamed on him from on high, almost in the zenith—what a suddenly odd place for it to be' Hirius was the greatest of all tho stars . . . was Sirius therefore The n».’s of Real Fnort By Briggs ABIE THE AGENT Prawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield ■ i-—-:-:-:-- ^ -—---T* -:-1 J M SATURDAY NVORNtMG- ^\v\ 12 STICK S o* COr^D ‘ WOOD To SAW AMD SPLIT 0EFOR£ You CAM GO HICK'RY NVJTTIM6 WITH Tne Gamg - wj /—L _^ Now WINFIELD ThRRC S NO USE OF Youft. LUHININ.G AM D CARRYING on like That- - Yoo KNOW You'uE Got To Do YouR CHORCS Before You can PLAY- — AND IF You Dow T rfmaVE and straighten up THftT FACE l SHALL REPORT You To YOUR FATHER *""""' " ■. ■■ * I»< I .— in .. ■ B --1'. -— ■ ■■■■■■ v-r * k . .>v ** . * , I He Says a .Mouthful % % , servant of heaven? . . . Well done, tnou pood and faithful servant. The happy stars filled his eyes, the ruoio his ears. Slow, faster; slower, but not so rIow as before: faster, faster than before, always faster, ns a breaker Rat hers helRht Turn—turn—tat. turn—turn—tata . . Turn turn tntata, turn tutu tatata . . . Tum, tatata, turn turn, tatata turn tum . • . Tatata tum, tatata turn and at last the final breathless Tata turn tata tum fata turn tata tum lata tum, deliriously fast and Insistent. His mind east off from Its moorings of thought and Joined his senses, drift ine on (lie absolute of beauty an.l content. . . . "I say," Dunning's voice cut across it all, close to Ids ear: "f say—you don't mind my talk Ine now? See here, wouldn't vou like to carry on here, as you are? I can arrange it with Suva, I ttiink, and when Whitehall finds What you’ve done they’ll almost certainly ratify you as <'ornmlssinner 01 Resident *>» something. They’re jolly glad to Keep on a man that s got tin haie of a place, usually. And you keep your little raj, and vour crown and all, and have no end of a time, what? Well, how docs it strike you? What do you say?” Kit smiled and slowly shook his hc«(1. "Thanks a lot, sir. It's awful ly kind of you Hut. 1 couldn't star • ]J McM&IlUS A JERRY ON THE JOB A MINOR COMPLAINT. ■ Dr»wn for The Omaha Bee by Hobaa (Copyright 1924)_I OWLM MObR. r } l ^TOMACM'S' Y^—1-- l f ¥&*** -' IH7 ‘r ii i' ninigiili tiie I -' j