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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 9, 1924)
I, THE KING By WAYLAND WELLS WILLIAMS. (Copyright. 1(S«.) " -_:_J (Continued from Teetertar.) There was only one thin* to think, snd he thought It for two hours. But he had known, and he had no right to expect anything better. The day was not far off when she would see him for what he was, and cast him from her utterly. V. (But Mary was not asleep, not till long after he was, though she meas ured her breathing long after he was, though she measured her breathing to deceive him. Not much, with her heart pounding away as It was! Hope. Amid all the worry, distaste, fear, jealousy, at last, one solid hope. Ah, but the risk The hideousness of waiting, pretending, standing back. The heart-breaking aloofness that It was ruin to break! Still, there was hope now, and sne finally went to sleep In Its arms, a smile on her Ups. When she w'oke up she smiled again, remembering. •• \m I a fool?" she asked the morn ing. "Or am I really a rather clever person? I’ve always wondered. Iye never known, but I’m going to, soon!’’) vi At breakfast a letter from Eltse Newell: „ "The Elms, Dimchureh, Conn. r>?Tfeellti ought to write you about Esther Things have not gone well here this spring, and the Company has had a hard time meeting some of its*loans Any other concern would have shut down, flat, till It had time ?o recoup, but Father would go on as,1r. svas* '"nit Tuesday afternoon he had a slight stroke, coming home in the r He thought so little of it that we" didn’t1 call* the doctor till, arier dinner, hut that was Jhat lt *’ went straight to bed and has been there ever since, though he is to sit up tomorrow. The d-tor says he will recover completely from “"■He and Mama both send th*,r^ov^; When are we to see you and Mar> again?. Tour affectionate ecu si P 8. Papa is out of the Presidency. a .u. Bosrd of Directors have elected a chairman, Mr. Vlckars. for eiecieu ~ DUt Papa doesn t safes gorng^Te^n lower. " New York •-Day by Day J ■■■■■E" _a called ea< UP« to tur lady next to me went an upset dish of salad dressing. While I looked sillier than usual, she tried to be brave. All the at tention. if any, I had was centered upon her while X turned lobster red. And then some one tltterpd and that titter acted along like fire in a burning brush to a decided roar. So I sat down in confusion. That would seem enough for one day but it wasn't. I stepped into *. telephone booth of a cigar store. The door swung open easily as I entered but refused to budge when I started to leave. I knocked gently on the glass and smiled at the clerk. I don't know what hl3 idea was but he merely smiled and went back and went on selling cigars. I knocked louder and finally gave the door a first-rate kick. It still would not budge. It became necessary to call a carpenter to remove the hinges whije i g iping crow d stood about, no doubt making wise remarks. I know how it fe- is to be a goldfish. And I tlim ~ht the best thing I could do was to go home and to bed—which I did. It was one of those prize fights where the contestants reassembled two old ladles killing bees. One spectator who sat with an alchollc list was aroused by a fellow back of him yelling: Duffy finally hit him!” v He straightened up and said rather thickly: "Who hit who?" "Duffy hit Murphy,” was the re ply. "f don't blame him,” said the bored spectator and lapsed back In to his doze. An Indication of prosperity along Broadway is the closing recently of five dress suit renting parlor*. This seems to he the cussing sea son in the theater. The Dialogue in 15 play* on <he Rialto are punc tuated with guttery with oath*. And it seems to me audiences are becoming a little bored with it all. One producer apologize* thualy in a not# on the. program: "The audience i* asked to hear with cer tain expletive* which, under other circumstance*, might be used for melodramatic effect, but 4iereln are employed because the mood and truth of the play demand their em ployment.” My old-fushinned com plex comes again to the fore. I don’t think any play needs cuss words. Another thing is being overdone to excite favorable criticism. A half dozen plays are Injecting charac ters to represent New York dra matic critics and give them a purr of pleasure over their Importance. K, p. A. finds the housing short age Is being solved and quotes this xf. from the Times: “Ninety sixth street east —Couple will share isrge olevatqr; overlooking park. Istonox 1) 43." (Cogyrlfht, 1184.j I ■'Hm!” said Kit. "The break-up o( the feudal ayatem. She would put the moat Important part in the post script," and he tossed the note to Mary. “We might drop in there from New London," she remarked. "Yes," said Kit. "as a kind of obsequy. We'd better." VII. He scarcely saw Vi again till the day of Cora's wedding when, not knowing many of the guests, she was thrown a good deal on his hands. He noticed that she did not seem to make much effort to meet other people, by way of acquiring her mil lionaire. He noticed it for a full hour, and then began to feel oddly uncomfortable. Just why had she come to America? Was there, by chance anything . . . personal about It? He felt strong today nnd wearily decided he had better make an effort. He could think of nothing better for It than a direct question. "VI,” he said, at some mention by her of her voyage, “just what was your idea In coming to America?” They were sitting on the stairs of the ancestral patroon mansion in Westchester County; he was a step below her and looked up, expecting her to answer. But she said noth ing, which was itself an answer. Also her eyebrows did not go up, but re mained almost flat. "See here," lie said, making an other effort, wriggling up toward her. "if you came for sympathy, all right I know you're in a bad way, and God knows I feel sorry for any one that is. I know what bad ways are. But . . She bent her a. head a little for ward, and the motion gave the Im pression of keeping bark tears. "I mean, Vi," he went on huskily, “that that’s all . . Still her un accustomed silence, and he felt sure that she was nearly crying. He could not stand it; he got up, took her hand and led her away to dance. If she had made the smallest ad vance, that would have been the end. He could have been fatherly. Her remaining stationary was exactly the ons way to draw him on that Junc ture, and she knew. That was dan ger. That night, sitting alone by his study window after bedtime, he was very clear-headed about it. If this happened, he told himself, It would be the lajst straw. The kingship of Nairava, the strong hand over men and events that the world betokened, that was gone. The kingship of him self had fallen low, but some vestige of It remained. "I" still reigned over I to the extent that he had not yet done anything involving a permanent loss of self-respect. He was a faine ant. but jio Caligula. It was not as though he felt any thing for her beyond physical attrac tion (and a. certain innocent pity). Tl was not as though he did not love Mary. If he seriously loved VI and did not love Mary, and acted accord ingly, he could still, though sinning, be master of himself and of his own respect. But It was not that way, Vi’s fascination was a curious thing. It was purely physical but It was entirely different from the honest physical attraction Implicit In Mary’s arms. It was more subtle and less clean, and only worked when he was with her. When she was away she did not bother him. but when she was there there was something about her exaggerated slimness and supple ness, her clear unpainted complexion, her arched eyebrows, her narrow transparent hands—oh. unhealthy. Even to be married to that woman would he sin. And it was all a matter of rhanrp. Today he had tried, the other night he had tried, hut the time might come when he would be alone with her. and the fascination would be too strong. It would not he in him. he knew, to stand Arm at the hardest moment. The air that fell slowly 1n from the street was hot and lifeless, hotter than on many a summer night in Nairava. The avenue stretched steel lly below. It was deserted, except for a limousine that occasionally hissed along It, or a taxi that rat tled Sometimes. Kit thought, those swiftly-moving bodies down there collided and destroyed each other in a reciprocal impact. A muss, a fuss, a crowd of staring people; then garage men came and swept the debris away and the street was • lent again. The passengers were taken to a hospital and patched up. and the cars were insured. Was it so different with people, in a collision of passions? A few stares and snig gers, then the smooth traffic of events once more. And the participants were insured, probably, somehow; he was too tired to reason it all out. hut certainly he had not been ass enough to forget to insure himself. Staring people, drifting slowly away. Cir cumstance. Insurance. Nightin gales ... ^ , .. Hs woke up with a start In the gray dawn. He had dreamed that he was sleeping in the Reslden* and that the siren of a cruiser was blow ing down in the lagoon; a doomllke sound, irresistible and flnsl. But he waa at home, In New York, and the blast of doom was only the blowing of a factory whistle, far to the east. VIII. It was the yacht, more than any desire to flee from VI, that made him carry out hla plan of attending his triennial reunion. He was quite - - s Abe Martin L.-_-* I—- " 9 Once in a lonjr while aomebuddy jrita an office, hut blamed few peo ple ever filled one. We wonder what’a become o’ "Jack, th' Clip per." who used to bob up now an' then? (Copyriaht, 1114.) Thterested in the yacht, which had not been in commission for fifteen years. She was a fairly commodious craft, somt seventy feet on the water line, schooner-rigged. She had been given a new auxiliary and a new mahogany launch, and presented a smart and attractive appearnnre In her fresh paint and polish. She reminded Kit of his early youth, and he felt some how sure that nothing unclean or unpleasant could occur on her. He also liked her name: Arsinoe. He sailed up to New Haven alone on the Sunday, his idea being to en tertain parties of classmates on her during the week and then sail on to New Kondon for the boat race, there meeting Mary and Vi and two or three others. She could put up six comfortably. He had himself landed at dusk, took a taxi uptown, and found bis riass headquarters, garish with blue flags and electric lights, but empty with familiar faces. He signed his name in a book, was given an unintelligible bundle of blue and white cotton which be was told was a “costume, ' and assigned a room on the Campus Thither he took his bag and his costume, dumped them on one of a row of three austere palletH and strolled out on the Campus again, wondering why he had come. Wright. Hall loomed before him. and automatically his eye sought a certain window. A light was burn Ing in it, and he conceived a sudden desire to go up and look at the place. He had on a blue serge suit and a straw hat; he rarrled a light cane and more a stiff collar. He looked very much the man of the world, he reflected. Not thus had he roamed these haunts years ago, either In mind or appearance. The door was wide open, the room empty. He walked Into the familiar space. All the furniture was differ ent, yet it gave precisely the same, effect that his had. Youth and inno cence still dwelt here. He leaned against the window seat, his stick clasped in his two hands, and closed his eyes. Jack; the place breathed Jack. Sure now', if ever, Jack must be with him. . . . He heard a slight sound and wear ily opened his eyes. An undergrad uate stood hefire him, in white paja mas. and bare feet; he must have In from the lavatory. Kit smiled, without moving. "Excuse me. This was my old room.’’ "Oh, yeah. Really!” The boy, a good-looking youth with dark hair and very young eyes, with embar rassed but sympathetic. "When was that?” he asked, leaning one hand on a chair and rubbing his feet together. "Seven years ago." "Oh! Quite some time.” He paused a moment, then went on: "The boy I roomed with here died. That was why I came up. I wouldn't have been ao sentimental otherwise.” "Oh, gee, that'* too bad. In the war?” "In the war. Aviation." He shud dered slightly, and stood on his feet. "Don't go.” said ths boy, stirring. "Have a clgaret? Ah—wouldn’t you like to sit down, and talk about It?" Kit had no desire except to get away. "Thank you,” he said, his mouth curving Into a hitter smile, "I think not. It would hardly be Interesting, either to you or to me. Good night.” He nodded and walked out. TX. On the stairs he cursed himself. He had seen, before he turned, the color mount to the boy's face and his eyes waver; he was hurl. He almost turned back to apalogtze. But. he did not; he plodded on down the stairs and out on the Campus. He sat. down on the rail fence, /too peevish and savage even to light a clgaret. Curse It, to have hurt some one who tried to be nice to him in that room, of all places! If Jack bad ever meant anything to him he would not have allowed himself to do that. But Jack was dead to him, and be to Jack. He was himself, almply and only, and he was bad. Globes of light floated on the dark cool breast of the Gamptis; down tjfere In the darkness that was Van derbilt he had looked on this place with Jack, the last time they were together. Kit shivered; he hated the place for reminding him of what he had lost. He rose to his feet; lie would go back to Ills yacht and sail away In the night. . . . A step sounded on the 4>rl<*k pave ment behind him; It stopped, and a hand came down on his shoulder. "Well. Kit Newell! I'll he darned!" He turned and beheld a classmate, one Rip Maddox, a popular, loud mouthed rounder whom he had known In college and cared little for. Conventionality settled drearily down on him', and he plunged into one of those hectically cordial dialogues that occur between people united by cir cumstance rather than community of interest. "H»llo, Rip! Glad to see you. When did you hit th^ town?” “Six o'clock. Say, I haven't seen you since the war. Great stuff, that Island of yours, and all!" "Great stuff, yes. I.et’s see, what did you join?" "Infantry. Seventy-sixth division." "Got over, then." ".Sore dill some time! Only got nut last August.-—Say, what are you doing?" "Now? Nothing." "Come with me. There’s a bunch over in a place on York street—got some good Scotch going. Dick Hof flngton’s there, and a bunch of oth ers. How about It?” Kit hesitated; the sight of the empty Campus decided him. Any thing was better. "AH right," he said. It was like a sigh. X. It would be unprofitable to pursue him too closely through the next twenty-four hours. They were most ly waking hours, full and noisy: the class had not come to New Haven to sleep, and least of all of it that portion In which Rip Maddox moved. Kit’s original idea of sleeping through the morning proved to be absurd. He had two roommates, each of whom had a quart and plenty of Ideas of how to get more. At eleven he gave up trying to sleep, donned his cot ton costume and staggered out, blear eyed but ready. On just one thing he was determined; he was not going to resurn to the black sour loneliness of last night on the f’ampus. There was talk of a picnic by the shore, but he paid little attention till he found himself driving to It in somebody’s car. He found, on get ting out of tnls, a hot sun, a bathing beach, baseball and flasks. He played baseball; hadn’t he always played baseball'’ He dropped flies and roared with laughter. He bathed in his costume and changed Into a bathing suit while It dried. There was lots of good stuff for lunch. Around four o'clock h« found it necessary to climb a small tree. The tree was too small and broke: there ensued some Interesting conversation with the owner, from which people irritatingly kept trying to pull him away. Then he was somewhere els». | on the back seat of that earn* car. it was hot and sunny, and there was talk about a broken washer. It ha I nothing, he was repeatedly Informed, to do with the Irish washerwoman; also that he could shut up about now At six he was lying on his bed In Durfee, and Rip Maddox, ridicu lously sober, was trying to drag him off somewhere. They went In a ear to a place where Rip wantad him to have supper with a whols lot at peo ple. but he preferred to sit on the lawn and he sick. When he woke up it wu dark IJghts streamed from a row of win dows; also singing, the blare of a band and the rattle of crockery. "Why!" he said. "I’m sober. Gee, isn’t It weird! And I’m hungry. Go in. Hat. Talk about Reconstruc tion.” (To He Continued Tomorrow.) It must Irritate a man to discover that his arteries are hardening when a hardened conscience would be of more use to him.—Des Moines Regis ter. _ THE NEBBS "IT’S ALL JAKE.” Directed for ”r by 50 HeM /'■'good ^ /working,SEC _\ ^JWCNJ vou GET Bit^SO if-^S TX>0^‘BWUnO, J]^ l mOTWvmG INJ , RUDO ^VOUR LirC^J | NEB / | PRIVJ «- \S TH\S MV&S 6R0WKJ JG FOR me ? 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Inc )_ Barney Google and Spark Plug IT WAS BARNEY’S GREAT CHANCE_Dr.w. f.r The Om«h, by Billy p.B«k jf"HOT Dldd\DY DO<^ 1 | HERE S AN BANK ’ BOOK X JOST COME. ACROSS (M1TH 31 BOCKS DEPosvt — Five vsars OU> =-•• - VOFU - / V Xtt BEE — y v—~yk I RDIMPIMr1 IIP FATI4FP . .*?UUT*i- »EE JICCS ANO MACC,E ,N Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus DlxinVjll'IVj Ul r1 nXL.1V u. s. r«t«t offi*. face or colors in the Sunday bee (Copyright im> ----.-. CRAvC'OO'b-THA.T AOTO 'bALE'bMAN | it) AT THE. PROMT DOOR • HC T*.t_Kt> nlM BCRRt. v AH' OUT 'TOO C>OT WE OON*T HAVEN'T T>EEN ■WANT ANT TVU^3 CAR. - AOTONOBILEB L <r~ JOOAV --' - n I COOl-D Who HERE -* fOR HOUR'S TELL *YOL \ AvPSOm it tuc _! I Tt> A PLCA*>ORE TO MEET A mam or TOOR INTELLECT AND E_TDl_A'N AI50UT THIEs J CAR- THINK. WHAT it MEAN j to Own a car like thi%- J Sat - haven't TOO COT amt HOME' I M It;; i ' _ * ©1924 «y NV l FtATunt Scwvtcc. I*c J Britain ngKu reserved |_ JERRY ON THE JOB always humor the boss. 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