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
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