(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 -
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Now WINFIELD ThRRC S
NO USE OF Youft. LUHININ.G AM D
CARRYING on like That- - Yoo
KNOW You'uE Got To Do YouR
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up THftT FACE l SHALL
REPORT You To YOUR FATHER
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%
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,
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
• <n here now. It Isn't a white man's
job."
'•.Soil,., whin- man'll have to do ft ■"
"1 know—excuse me—but It isn't
niv ioh. It has boon, but it's fiti
ishCft now . To stjiy ori w ould be—1
don't know—pretending. And l'v# got
other things to do.*’
“The Govern men t would let * O'*
keep your title and all, I «'in
promise you. And you'd have n »
trouble with tlmin they're pretty
good fellows in Whitehall."
(To Be * nnttmiort Tomorrow.p <
THE NEBBS
THE LITTLE DOUGH BOY.
Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hew
(Copyri*ht 192 0
Tut parting
or the
WAVS
LAST VNEEK
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MR. SUOER
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AGREED
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AS 'YOU EANlN THERE ftNO ~i i COM'NG - THESE ARE I -tgnwG TO CDniv/inCE
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SPARKY JUST CAN’T LEAVE HOME.
Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck
(Copyright 1920
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( IS FROM A 813 JOCKEY CLUB IN LONDON*
I —hey say -Metre willing -To pay spark
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BRINGING UP FATHER U. S. Patent Office PACE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE DrfcWIl for Tll^ OtoeHa 1>]J McM&IlUS
A
JERRY ON THE JOB A MINOR COMPLAINT. ■ Dr»wn for The Omaha Bee by Hobaa
(Copyright 1924)_I
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