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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 4, 1924)
I, THE KING •, By WAY LAND WELLS W'lLLIAMS. K| | (Copyright. 3924.) ►4 (Continued from TMtcrday.) And that gave flint another Jolt. In two short years had life degenerated Into a grasping after enough money to give him a good time? The re actions of college kicked faintly' In Ills mind: he recognized them.'hated them—and then hated them for not being stronger. III. One morning, after vainly trying to write about Nalrava for an hour, he seized a piece of paper and scrawled the following: "When the hiatory of this post bellum mess is written, probably the easiest time and the finest perform ance will be attributed to those young people who came out of the war without money and had to find something to do, quick. Those fel lows who strolled into town a year ago, fit and cheery in their uniforms, drank themselves into a stupor, woke up. took the first job they could find nnd are now seen sitting in clnh yvin dows, pasty-faced and lined, talking fcliout -the price of coal—they're the ones to admire. Those girls who for got to jazz, settled down into three room apartments without a maid, swore over burnt food and now meet to exchange criticisms of maternity hospitals—they are the heroines of this age. Damn them all. But , they're the happiest of us, and de ll serve to be. 1 * "Those who mifl* money in the war, or had it anyway, and could pick and choose and amuse them selves, they won't get much credit But, God! they ^suffered, some of them. The Idle ran suffer, first for being Idle, second for having time to suffer in. ' "But those that suffer most are the ones who used to cherish the visions of better things that we call ideals. It's a strong man who can keep an ideal now—and who lives that can make one valid to the word'.’ Book at Wilson. The front page of every newspaper nowadays is proof that we have none, and poison to any we might retain. And the ideal-fed minds are dying of starvation, or learning to live on poison, and grow ing fat. "Oh, but it isn't all dead. I know that those visions will lead men again, and some of them, at last, will be come facts and triumph. And no thanks to me. The hour of need and trial, and I idle and impotent—oh, God! what hope is there? What re ward?” »--\ New York --Day by Day— _— -—' By O. O. M’INTYRE. Xew York, Dec, 3.—The other day I visited Sing Sing prison to see a man who once went swimming with our gang in the old swimmin' hole. He is In the seventh year of a life term. Prison had already bleached him gray. lie seemed as devoid of red cor* puaeles as one of those wriggly tilings one finds under a mouldy hoard in the"cellar. He was stoop shouldered, hollow chested and his I'mp liaryl had the chill of death. His is the old story—whiskey, loose com pinions and murder. ( Mfrw* lie was in middle years a lonely old man—playing a desperate game gainst loneliness and despair. He poked with monotony at the cuff of one sleeve and asked me of thoso we hod known when We were boys. 1 bad been his only visitor since he went up the river. The conversation zigzagged from tile creek bank*, to the hills beyond. He was living over again the fleeting days of youth. Not once was there cynicism at the deadly commonplace ness of his existence. There was only regret that he had muffed happiness. When I left I asked if there might be something he wanted outside. He shook his head but there was a long ing in his eye. So I persisted. And he said: "You may think it a strange A request. But there is something I ’ would like to have—something of w hich you would never dream. "Back home, you remember, my mother, sister and I lived in a little cottage near the creek. It was the only place of which I have happy rrtemorics. It may not be there now but if it Is and you ever go back , take a picture of It and send it to mp." The photograph has been taken and no doubt by now has reached him. I ipft him with a sinister some thing gripping me like ice. Here was a murderer pining for only one thing in life—an emblpm of purity. Not once In the prison or prison yard did I see a smile. Keepers, it seems to me, are touched by this drab melancholy. Souls appear to have turned to rlinkers—dry and ashy. Nothing stirs listlessness into Interest. Life goes on—grim days and grim nights. There sre very few places left In the White Light Zone for profession al dancers. Those who cannot find engagements in vaudeville are turn ing to other work. Or going to Paris and London where the demand is heavy. An Sgency reports thpre are only six dancing couples now work ing in first class places. Three years | ago there were more than L’OO coup les. There is a man in the 4f>s who is making a living removing gin stains from furniture. In his little shop win riow is a placard reading: "No mat ter how rough the party, I can re pair the damage in a Jiffy." Just one more little observation about prisons—and "yam may all go home but don't loiter in the aisles— I believe the greatest need of men in prison today Is a friendly faith In their reformation. Many of them don't go straight when released aim ply because nobody cares. It was revealel in a bankruptcy petitloh of a. young high flyer that he had left unpaid a hill for $500 to the .press agent. He had employed the preas agent to bruit It about he was a "first nlghler." A recent book Of mine was foi some time listed among the six be't sellers. But whatever conceit this may have engendered was knocked Into a cocked hat by s review in a paper in Hcotland which said: "It Is the sorj of hook that schieves Hie es timable norm of being neither sub lime or ridiculous. It might hsvc been written hy a cab driver or a green aiocer's clerk.” (Copyrlsht. 1*24 I a IV. The outside life went on, faster snd more steadily than ever as he felt the Increasing need to forget. ]n It he followed Mary; the visit to Dim* church marked the point where she passed him, definitely, in ability to use money and realize social values. She made the plans, answered and sent out the invitations, mapped out the budget, chose the people and tie elded when to go home. With It all she kept an apparently untouched re serve. both mental and physical: she never seemed tired or bored or in doubt, nnd she kept time for at least an hour's practice every day. She enjoyed herself, he discovered, and ahe did so well nnd was so Intel ligent and sane about it all that he could not grudge her her enjoyment. He thought she probably had an ideal of wealth, and was enabled to realize It better now for her youth of eno omy and discipline. The ideal com prised gayety, freedom, a certain crispness of mind and urbanity; above all urbanity. It wasn't a whol ly bad notion: come, good friends, let us enjoy the best there is In the world and each other, and forget the rest. But there was something nu»re to it. he thought. Why Schumann every morning, especially preceded by finger exercises? He could not see what they contributed to social uses; she almost never played to people in Neyt York and her talent seemed out of key in their life. When he asked her, she merely said that she loved music, now that art could never be the one all-important thing In any body’s life, except for a very few, and they were geniuses, or at least artists. But in its plaee It was delightful. Kit thought of the number of peo ple they went round with in whose lives art played no part whatever, primary or secondary, and decided that he had married a rather remark able woman. She was likely to be very unhappy, some time, when she discovered the sort of man she had married. Meanwhile it was just as well that she shouldn't think about it. V. He would wake up somewhere be tween nine and twelve In the mom ing and almost always flnd himself alone in the room. Frequently he could hear Mary's laborious Czerny, or phrases out of Brahms or Chopin, filtering up from the drawing room. She was generally out before he came down, and he would not see her till late in the day; in that case he would usually find a note on the breakfast table: "I lunch out today, and so do you. "Xothlng this afternoon you have to bother about. "Dinner here, 7:30. Dyers, Marie Chavaux and some others. Get some bridge cards, there's a dear. All ours are filthy. "Hoffingtons', music. Drummonds' dance. Plaza. I told Elizabeth and George Carey we'd meet them aj the Rendezvous around two. Got a clean shirt?—M." He would ascend to his old bed room, which he now used as a study, light a pipe and sit down before bis typewriter. In fifteen minutes he would be at the telephone, arranging for a, squash game in the afternoon or making an appointment with a lawyer or a tailor or answering a call for Mary. One piece of tele phonic business suggested another, and he soon came to the conclusion that it was so near lunch time that he wouldn't bother about his book. Hunch was at one of the clubs, al most always with somebody. And there was generally some one to talk with afterwards till at least three. Then h« would wander Into the library and pick up a book or a magazine; no burry, nothing this aft ernoon tiut squash. And Mary's bridge cards. And call up Cooper to sge about his shirts. By the time he came to, it was too late for anything but his squash a|> pointment. When it wasn't squash he had to have hi« hair cut. or look in on some damnable boring tea party he hadn’t had the sense to get out of. If he waited in the club till five o'clock he was always sure to get caught In a bridge game, and would rush oiit of the building with his coat tails flying, at 7:33. Dinner was a time of relaxation: Mary on deck; everything perfect. Bridge, mixed bridge for small stakes, soporific stuff. At eleven or so they would make a general exodus to some private party. Whirling about with jiggling light flappers, silent, distraites, awkward, apparently not enjoying themselves, lie did not enjoy them particularly, either, but always danced with them, for no reason that he could make out, except that he was only twenty five. Often in the ballroom and Invari ably in the coat room some of the younger men could he observed under the Influence. Spasm of revulsion; wasn't good form in my day. Oh. well, your day Is past, my hoy. Youth will be serred. All due tn prnhihl ! tIon. Frequent little nips, from th- host's supply. If possible; as he wanted to save hit flask for later. By mldniKht a feeling of ease: by ore o'clock, one of elation. The smell of lilies of the i valley, jrardenlas, rosea; white arms. inoft nur*. loud Kthioplan rhythms. After all, this was life, of a sort— and not surh a bad sort, either Welt, where do we f?o next.’ Always, Invariably, a friendly nod from the romtnlsslonnalre at the door and another from the head waiter. On this point he prided himself, at leant till next morning. A nine tnble, not too near the tnueir or the nerving door; gin and ginger ale, poaalbl.v champagne. If gome one wan nuftl rtently familiar tilth the powers of the plare. There would be from four to eight In their own group, and cithern would wander o\er from other tables, after the flrM spasm of dancing was over There would he various familiar llg urea representing Wall street. Klfth avenue, Broadway and the Villag> the moat numerous and Interesting were the Broadway ones I,uke sil veratetn: was he wearing his emei aid* The Wentworth Slaters weren't th*\ sight*? Talk, drink, dancing, wandering off to other table*- In trodurtlona, Kxtroardlnailly attrac tive French woman, with hair nil o\er ifM didn * eat< it bar mums ootut ♦ eg*, or aetreM**. or something. Amu* ing fellow with the big lower lip pretty raw atory ho told about the church warden. Mary didn’t laugh. Strange ><»uth ^Ith yellow hair; aw* fullv Knowing look about iho no, Onh twenty t«o, they wild and whet didn't ho kn«»u ? (In It** < nwttoued Townrrtm.) THE NEBBS THE NIGHT OF THE NIGHT. Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess < Copyright 1924) /-'were: that little GutV^ ! SENT ME A MARKED COPV \ / or the Paper wan his photo \ AND "THE ACCOUNT OF UlS SUCCESSFUL STOCK DEALS- ^E j WAS AFRAID I WAS GOING TO/ MUFF IT _ WELL AS FAR /~To_ AS HE'S CONCERNED i r ra DIDN’T SEE IT AT ALL fcl ^---I I V\t2 ME.Q5 “wt V ^ p^Q fvCT UVCL N\tRCWfVMT ! - V NOvSELtSS 90£*Og* GR-CET^niGS VQO^ I UMTW, 1 G£T ET 1 —” f&CEKJ READING^ fi 'naiAt O'D WOO Oo _T\ tue papers the \ i Steal .something op V ' trw OAV4 A 'S TOUR vjiCe getting A \ a o^rce ? or pep waps ?°N,rr vr AN U HOO VaJOPKED VOUR ) CHANCE SEE an h )Nj a PCOXWT meD'OnL 7 ARTICLE , AO - SOMETHING \-\<Z I OftCOIAH SUOEP ? E -^UKr MUST wave „ / VMOTOGRAPW _ , WAPPEN1EO 'E NOyR/-> AnD everything /(picture GOT in /«n\ vrVJ-~—1—y' ^tThe paper. /NO - Oust ASUCCESSFUL (listen. Smelt . A fi£m Might SPECULATION —THAT'S ALL SJCCESSTUL TAKING BAIT WELL MOO SAID THEM WERE H OFF THE HOOK A COUPLE. OF GOING TO "TRIM" ME , WlD -/HiMES BUT FinALLM WE GETS WELL THEM RE 'TRIMMING \-MEWOOtf- MOOD SETTER f ME LIKE A CHRISTMAS TREE j nuC^ WHILE MOOVE GOT ^hanging EkERmThimG ThEMc ooo&H ANOtouR HEALTH Got on me ? Hou OOn't \ OR OKJ€_ or these OamS l NEED MOULL SE LOOKING THR<W&y I MOOLL WAUL To GET IT FROM p^pV RS FoR A rrBs.. WME SOON -I’LL_HAyEITAUy^cftL£ qm StRMCWNiN£^J£5* ^ a ^ • Barney Google and Spark Plug (Copyright. 1924. by The Bell Synd.cate. Inc ) Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeclc (Copyright 1921) ■ ... ■ ■■ mtmmm ■ ■ . . — — ....I -■ . .. mm i ——■ — f li ■ i ■■ ■ ■ ■ ■ LISSEM DUKE - IKA « \ '<0_U FACT-1 AlM'T GOT A DIME1, j A WAGER to You WAMT TOGO / Mis is APPALLING TaSoUSR WiT4 TAiS race jostas a / SfoRTiHS / ' ^PRoPpSiTiQN ? \ - A Tell You what ILLT50 MV Morse aeainst, yours \ \AJIKMER TAKES J L^-r me see \ 'EM 0oTt4 ■= ( YouR ) Vtoui'S TdAT^J)v Worse 1924. by King Fwlum Syndtc*te Inc BRINGING UP FATHER Registered U. S. Patent Office SEE JICCS AND MAGGIE IN FULL PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BEE Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus (Copyright 1924) ——---— OH CiOOON NW HMR (*3 erVTINC, *"*lC.E Nt'sO LO^Cj f l*A bo C.U NO TO CjET FS.IO or MN BOBBED HN\S$ _ mtfok———’ ■ % " n ‘sitLx* n ■* NO 60T » KNOx HMtN 'l -lUU rSOMCrU 1 LfOO LOOK FOR hQvj M>t M*tK '-O _J| > :/• CH/Vrsue. Ih fM-1 CO^INU OUV9 _I ,-'qn >Eb> h« ^ POCKETb (- '—pj , F-iri0 ,T || V A'7{ ' ^ •ra m I ISJ4 u y InT i Ft*TLM> Simvm.1. Ihc _I JERRY ON THE JOB r ^*=BT77if IITIi HBirro/ T-- "f 1 ■ n ' WASTE NOT, WANT NOT. ■■ — _i — —— Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban (Copyright 1924) IjgfS CamAOA lot —» o i J. '— 'T-ft-rs'TWflCTV / '■tWsr i ) 'To '-IfcAT ( CbUAfttAV} Oi^t s 7 \*r most 3t l Sao- Luos. ' |^57l Got A Cfinfi’3 fin ) l OOn'T > y\ ! wnort v^ovm “o err V_.v^C.T) OP ft. That Guiltiest Feeling By Briggs I Jack \ 3a uy oweo^ 'x Tut citx/er?esT shoujs \ [.As-r wusht t even. «>avjj iij mv i_ipe - " Tnt* ci9ou)*j&d I C-Tul-ia"- Yo<J vSnouldwt f I Mias ( t - - <51 mV lv G RC A r. HE R6\S WHAT PfRCV HAMM \ The critic .Saks about it- ) •• Thg. *sca.soa/s Worst Puri I UAJ ChX>UR abli;^ The acimc. of/ P'jTBFjeeMce " -' /I^aTlDH*«*S SRoeEQT-BEiOTiesi REVIEW " The CBOU/VCD <TuL>** IS SO Bad \jjs. mad ~r0 CEAue Tub Tmeatee 8EROR5 OajC act WAS OVER... WE WEmT OUT _ inito The srseeT <soBBi»ue» I | EfiTTCR l.r A~D AVOuJlMfc J 1 This 13 WHAT Byowi mindJbA I HAS X© ^AV A9ooX lx “'Tuc / fRi5«;</ffD J"UOA- IS -Arsl IM3UI.X j I To OUR LOuwiesr BBOiAJe.Ti / | PATgQMi Qp Tng ThCATRi; y' ' ■ AkjD~~Ai.exA>oDen.' iajooly jays " A/OT Jwcc Thc CHS. BO Y <S>3Tc‘ps j HA^ AHYTHIR/& Lin's' ' YhC CB04*/K)E£> / \JuLia' Bee a/ Poibybd oaj a a/ J UAaS U/5PCCriA>S A had HBLPLCZJ f Public... ihjdsro ;rne cherry J Stress, cesHi adorable b ZounAR'ioi/ 1 ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfielc 5omt "Muff" Th**f Pajs. H- - — ov mever 1$ (klunnoce Qo'Mt, c.R*Ty frc/a \*nuurcc tvus, HERE PHOoy VUJHPE"E!> footleggek stuff j _<tr 'T'S POSIT tUST * 4&m ■«% IV-l-Ll . —L-i—« !T>i Q—i• Do > ■> *■«»•>»• l I'M ASHAMEt) 0C \' Nou $>HCL'Lt> EE. N | MYiEVP, AEE.THlS. MESTO-PuiL CP THAT POi&OM SOOYVEW^ NOO MAOE A PiNE 1MSQRACE OP YOCiR* SE\P on: THE STREET LAST - nk,ht" ,*r; -f— -- •-— 1 M THOROC'QWLV ASHAmfd OF MVS0.P - UJHV 0\t>N’Y SOMEBOOY HAMO ME * V COUPLE OF <K>00 SMASHES?? Sl< ^ jf~~
