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.
<To Be Continued Monday.)
Studio executives are considering v
plans for rigid quarantine to prevent (
the spread of the puzzle-malaria.
THE NEBBS
LAW VS. DRAG.
Directed for The Omaha Bee by Sol Hess
(Copjrif ht 1924)
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Barney Google and Spark Plug THAT’S THE WAY IT FELT TO BARNEY. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy Defeck
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Registered
U. 3. Patent Office
SEE J1GGS AND MAGGIE IN FULL
PAGE OF COLORS IN THE SUNDAY BFE
Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus
(Copyrigbt 1924)
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THE WINNERS LOSE
Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hoban
< Copyright 1924)
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