I, THE KING By WAYLAND WELLS WILLIAMS. , (Copyright, 1924.) - ___J (Continu'd from Yesterday.) And they, together with a dim little boy memory of loud whirling ma chines, formed all hie knowledge of his new kingdom. But It was enough to send the blood racing through every last capillary of him. his mind palpitating with eagerness and won der. "Oh, gosh!” he thought form lessly, as a car rumbled to a stop nnd he stepped forward. "Oh, gosh, gosh!" VI. lie hnd to go to New York, and was not aide to reach the Arsinoe till Fridav at lunch time. He had tale grauhed ahead, and found the launch Waiting for him near the station. The harbor smelt cool and fresh after the hot train. Mary was sitting under the awning aft, and VI, and two or three others. "You’re pretty late," said Mary. "We’ve finished lunch, hut Stokes has saved something for you. You’d better go right down.” 1 "Yep.” said Kit, “I’m hungry. Hel ; ]o, people; see you later.” As ha sat eating he saw Vi’s head in *he doorway. "Kit. angel! What j on earth?" She flopped gently into ! the room, fingering her pearls. "Earth, heaven and hell!” said Kit, nnd laughed, with his mouth full. Was it possible that this child, this absurd, transparent creature, had ever meant anything to him either for danger or joy? “Poor angel,” breathed Vi, bending over. “And did they give you a nice luneby-punchy?" "Why, it’s about as nice as most left-over lunchy-punchies are," al lowed Kit. "Have a bit of cold lamb?" VI gave a slight shudder. “No, thinks. But shall I sit down, and talk to you while you cat it?" "Why, yes, if you like,” said Kit, as a schoolboy might have said it. He looked at her, and something must have gone with his look, for VI all at once became stiff and straight, or as nearly so as her physique permit ted. Her eyes glittered hack at him for one moment, and her hands went up to her pearls again. "Oh!" she said, on a high staccato little note, utterly English, utterly VI. Then she turned and went out. So that was that. Presently Mary’ came in to say that they were going ashore, as they had S 'nie tilings to rln before the rare, and she would send the launch hack for hint. "But see here,” said Kit, "can’t you stay? I’ve got to talk to you. Frightfully Important." “Not now, I’m afraid.” "But it’s much more important than any race!" She smiled. "I’m sorry, dear, but one can’t Ignore guests. loiter." She was off. but her smile was 3*111 with him. It was like . . . like the outside of the gates of paradise, beau tiful and closed. He joined her later on the observe tlon train, and they saw the race to gether. He thought it was rather a flutter In a hencoop, but diverting in its way. They scrambled back to the Arsinoe, and the business of prepar ing for dinner began; afterward they were going to dance, at the Griswold. “But see here," said Kit. "1 simply must talk tQ you. I can’t sleep to n'ght till I've talked to you.” "After dinner,” said Mary, rapidly winding her hair. “We can send them off. and join them later. Kit looked at her as she stood he fore her glass in her peignoir, and ail )1f ,-ould think of was an absurd bn > --- New York --Day by Day _j By O. O. M’INTYRK. New Y'ork, Dec. 12.—This is the day of the "cafe kiddle." You see him these days in almost every public! restaurant. resembling the stage dwarf, and dressed in dinner clothes with all the up-to-date trappings, In eluding a boutonniere. Bringing children to cafes is one of the fads since prohibition. Bar ents feel he is safe from the frivoli ties that liquor sometimes engenders. And so he sits with them, immacu lately starched and primped, smooth and self-assured. They are the children from whom few thrills are left. They know New York, Paris. London, the Riviera and Palm Beach. They would laguh at the idea of playing with toys. The mysteries of the haymow, the stone bruise and barefoot pleasures are de nied them. They chat as nonchalantly about the reigning play as the chronic first nlghter, and they can discuss the best selling book with amazing knowledge. You see them at 12 years apparently surfeited with all the worldllneg.s usually packed Into a lifetime. I noticed one the other night or dering from a menu entirely in French. He chose his dishes with all the skill of the accomplished epicure, and Instead of obeying the dictum to lie seen and not heard, he was quite the life of the party. He did all the talking. In those restaurants where danc ing is permitted, the cafp kiddle does his stuff. And he remains as long as the rest. But here are children who rarely smile. There Is none of that buoyant vibrancy that only youth achieves. Instead there Is a pathetic lanquor. Their life Is a round of tutors and well-bred conversational blah. Not to have been chased front a watermelon patch or to have dug a cave In the hanks of the creeks means Just one thing. They have not lived. The famous Palais Royal, where Paul Whiteman's Jazz hand made Its first world wide hid for fame, is do ing a rushing business as ft ehnp suey Joint. This makes ths 15th Chinese restaurant to open between Herald Square and Columbus circle since Broadway went, practically speaking, dry. Several years ago "Bud" Fisher, the cartoonist, wits employed on a New York morning newspaper. He received a bigger offer from nnother paper and asked to he released from his contract, but was refused. Sev eral days later he was in the art room and an Kfflrlent Kustaco came snooping In to sec what was going on. "Bud” was smoking a cigaret. "Smoking Is not permitted here!” said (,he efficiency expert "What will happen If 1 smoke?' •Hked the cartoonist. "You will he dismissed.” "Fine. I'll he here at 2 o'clock wfth three package* of cigaret*. to be lighted, on* after another, and 1f you'll fir* m«, I'll have * in.non In rash to hand over to you ' Fisher was there—but the efficiency •Xpert was not. 1 of poetry: "My mother bids me bind my hair and lace my bodice blue." Little she knew for what, poor chi'J. Poor brave untroubled Mary. VII. They sat alone at last, facing elch other over the saloon "table. The place was bright with chintz and shaded lights; Kit had chosen It because: it was more businesslike than the deck with its vistas of dreamy water. Mary smoked a cignret, holding it aloft, her elbow propped on her other hand, re guiding her husband with a calm, slightly austere receptivity, like a business tnan. Kit stared at her. "Well dear." said Mary. Kit smiled in pain. "You're so good and kind. That makes it harder— and it’s so hard, anyway.” "Yes. It generally is.” "Well,’’ he began, pulling himself together, "I can host describe what has happened us a sort of coup d eiat in the Secret Kingdom. I've never told you about that—it seemed ab surd; but I've always thought of a pet son’s self as a sort of kingdom. . . . The old government of mine was rotten, and it fell. A new one’s taken its place, and I have hopes that it'll do better. . "I suppose you've known.” he went on, knitting his brows, "that I've been in a pretty bad way lately?" She nodded. "It's been worse, I think, than even I realized. It was a sort of death in life—no. damnation in life. To see yourself grow ta like the things you hate, and haie the tilings you iike, and not be able to lift a finger to stop yourself. . Ah that came to a head in N’c-\v Haven.” He sketched briefly the events of the thirty-six hours. Then ne came to the matter of the safety pin, blit after a moment’s hesitation derided that it sounded too fanciful and mere ly said that he had decided to lake over Uncle Jeff's factory. ’" got to Dimchurch Tuesday, and we talked most of that night and the rext day. Then Wednesday evening I went to New York, to see what was possible in exact terms. 1 think I sec my way pretty well now. I ’.ike over nil Uncle Jeff's stock—1." want ed to keep hold of it till it. began lo go up, hut that wouldn't do. 1 must lie all in it if I'm in It at all. So I'm taking over the whole of it, at 54." "And the residency. I suppose?” “Nothing of the kind. I'm going to put on a pair of overalls next Mon day morning and ltegin unioning brass plate* from freight cars. I think that's about the most menial work there is, bar sweeping floors. And .it’ll he that sort of thing, in one department after another, for two years. Uncle Jeff says one, but 1 think more. And then, when I know each Jolt, and the state of mind of job. something executive. "Well, that's all easy; now comes the difficult part to explain. In the first place, the transfer is to he kept secret. I'm using a dummy buyer. Do you see?—I couldn't stand that, having foremen know that I was mas querading under them. The young prince in disguise—all that. My ap prenticeship must be as honest ns I can make it. "To make you see the whole thing I’ll have to go a good deal deeper into my character than is interest ing; hower! T won't say that I'm un usual, hut I privately think I ant Every one does. Well, hiy unusual* ness, if it exists, lies in ... in reach ing happiness chiefly through a feel ing of usefulness and importance to Miter people. Even if it means sac rifiee of safety and comfort—in fact, mostly through the sacrifice of those things. "Several times in my life I've had a choi -e to make between comfort and responsibility. Once was in N'ainva, when it was a question of killing that sailor for the sake of peace. I did it, though I knew it might mean court-martial and all sorts of unpleasantness, let alone moral scruples. The court-martial never came—I think chiefly because I told them in Washington exactly how it was, and left it to them to proceed If they liked. As for the moral scruples, they haven’t bothered much . . . Why. it would have hern immoral, standing as I did, to let him live. "Another time was about Jack. An other time was way back in the Blues, when I'd been made a corporal, and told a runty little kid to put his gun away. "The last time was last Tuesday morning . . . "It's extraordinary about Dim church, it’s always been u jtos-lhil ity, ever since I was a mere kid. I never liked the Idea, because it was commercial, und mere commercialism never attracted me. It doesn t now. But then neither does I he idea of being the Industrial Savior of the country. You mustn't make any mis take about that. I have jfo convic tions abou the Dignity of Labor. 1 ill not posing as the Workman s Friend. There’* at Least One in Every Office By Briggs i - i . ---—— «■■■■■■ - - ■■■■ i, [ what'-S Tmc. idea op ) I Ti-m-T Car.took! ip 1 | MAV ASK J j v— a\ [ Do You fWl/slD IF I WAKE ) I A 3^<36(:STiO^J T ^ f HOUJ FAR AHiAO X)0 ^ I y YoJ KEEP YOOR JX>OSi IT BOTHER YbU j I |F l LOOK OUCR , J \ Your. (Shoulder ? / _ tf \ ? I haven't found the key to i; uut'rlal peace. If I'm half as suer vfrl in maintaining it as Uncle Jeff has been I'll be lucky. It might tie said, 1 suppose, that the really great figures of today—the modern kings—are the kings of industry. Certainly the idea of power over the labor and payment | of 1,500 people, over their whole eco nomic life—is the sort of thing that would attrart a man with the bug of responsibility. But—I want you to get this straight—I'm going into the thing for purely selfish reasons, to save myself. I see a chance to buy the sort of responsibility that makes me happy, and I'm buying It. My money's never brought me anything worth while since I had it: well, it's going to now. It's going to buy me a job, a job that'll make Naira va look like child's play.—I suppose tljis sounds like the most awful cheek. ’ "No," said Mary, lighting another tlgaret, "not entirely.” Kit placed his two hands palms down on the table and stammered. “Now then, this—this is the hard part. The money. I said 1 was using my money In buy salvation. That's the rub; it'll take most of it. The plant's a bigger thing than I knew; t'ncle .TpIT must have been a pretty rich man back in the good time. Well, the |iolnt is, buying fifty-two per cent of the stock, even at its present price, will take the greater part of what I have. And what I have, of course, is yours ns well.” Mary parted her lips and he thought she was gMng to speak; hut she only looked quietly at him through the blue rigiret smoke. v\ CN.c MCRc StCC^!'! The i qoke to B I'TiCKlTV Ht f. i TPEAYINXE OS TD | A SHOWX'K'K^r. \ UiE OUQHY TO \u)MY FOR HI*'1 y / V S _ ^