(Continued from VeMrrtluy.) "The Lord gent manna!” he mur I mured, patting one of her hands. "It [ was rumored or alleged that I had to j git next to Miss Hebe Savage. Now 1 wish to go on record as savin' that 1 am very oartlal to Miss Hebe Sav age. but—" "I don't believe a word that comes out of the Democrat office any more." "We’re yoller, ns a houn' duwg," I'll cheerfully admit. But here's one 1 solemn truth we’re goln' to print in a tbree-eolunm spread on the from page tomorrow afterm or " "Something diabolical. I'll bet." “You’re in the wrung department, | Miss Margaret. Somethin’ heavenly. How Mr. James Wilder, esquire, a microbe, was granted an entire eve nin' of unbroken bliss, sittin' on a ( golden cloud svappin' opinions with Miss Mahgaret Peake, an angel!—" "Pull out my chair, microbe. And, Jimmy, you're such a sweet fool. Give me gome almonds, and I'll love you to distraction." "I wish you meant that." There was no comedy in that last remark. It came from his throat, u | still, hurt sound. She looked curl ' ously around at his small, maimed face; it was usually convivial, and tonight Jimmy had been drinking too much. She was sorry for him; just for an instant she forgot to bo sorry for herself. She had always liked Jimmy. He had brains and wit. He was a character. But thn thought of h(g being in love with her came as something of a shock. He was so out of her zone. “I wish I did, Jimmy," she heard herself saying, and she wanted to cry with a sudden pity for the poor things of earth, weak-wlnged crea tures forever singed in vain flies. The dinner was spread on .a series I of tables, joined and extending into the large room beyond. It was a handsome dinner, quite up to the I Peake standard. The banks of roses, the sparkling glasswiye, tlie hand | service did honor to the fine Spanish gentleman who sat next to Mrs. Gar ( nett, exerting a charm which man aged to conceal the fact that he thought her conversation infantile. I The .Sycamore Club Set—which Is to say the noisy youngsters of Sutsuma —were a littie quelled by the old-fash ioned formality that Judge Peake al ways managed to lend to his occa sions. As to the Judge, he was In an unusually expansive mood; his Ro New York —Day by Day v_I By O. O. MTXTYRK. New York, Dec. 30.—Between 6 anil 7 o'clock In the evening—that am ethystine hour when Manhattan pois 1 es—there la a hiatus too on Cabmen's row along the south side of Central j park opposite the Plaza. Here in the thick of the eity the Jehus perch: on their high seats sucking at stub pipes. And no doubt wondering. There is something regal in their melancholy when the city’s boil be comes a mere simmer and even the park pigeons seem resting on the bosom of a breeze. The old cabbies are not only hounded by age but by 111 fortune. They look forward to night only men'can *vho know that their pickings will be light. The veteran Jehu is about the same the whole world over. Empurpled nose, shot with tiny red veins, white straggly mustache and skin crinkled by the winds. His vest is of affluent pattern and his black high hat falls over his head to his ears. He carries a ponderous watch chain for his silver hunting case watch, ftlke a sandwich man he adds color to the life of the eity— a foil to his wealth and ease. They are kindly old fellows and seem to long for scraps of conver sation with the passersby. "Kerriilge, sir!” they cry and look hopefully. Many of them cling lo their work be cause of tlffc great love they bear for I their tired old nags. Peculiarly enough, the fare of the l ftur or two-wheeler is the New Yorker almost Invariably. The visi tor to the city rarely rides in them. I The New Yorker knows they are com fortable and saf> nn,| now and then uses tL< in to ejijoy a drive through Cent cm park. When Delrnoftlco's and Old Sher rj's were on the avenue it was con | slderod smart and a part of the din v ner to follow the coffee with a slow drive through the park before drop ping Into the theater. Tha old cabby Incidentally Is an example of the evanescence of glory. Once he was a figure In the gay | life of the town and many grew rich not only collecting fares but In 1 market tips. He associated with great men In easy -familiarity. Whenever—and the rarity of It Is quite appalling—someone tells me: "Your stuff was good today!” I enn not help but think of three brilliant scribblers of 10 years ago who are unheard of today. And I sometimes wonder how I have the courage to carry on. Let’s all cry. i *—■—’ In a half day on the Boyery one can find at least 20 men who were on the top wave of prosperity and sailing strong a few years ngo. Not all of them went down through drink. As they will tell you: "It Just hap pened." Th»re Is a mistaken reasoning that men who fall are at fault. In 50 p»r * cent of the cases they are untrussed by circumstances beyond their con * tint. In a like manner I believe that many more Instances of success than are Imagined are brought about by the same circumstances. ■ ■ ■■»■ I spent the other night In an apart ment In the neighborhood where I formerly lived. I was awakened In the morning by the ring of a black smith's forge. This seemed to a sleep, sluggish mind more of a phantasy than reality. Where In the neighbor hood was a blacksmith shop? The ex planation wns simple. Across the street wns a riding academy and all dny long various mminls are being •hod. But. the metropolitan black smith shop Is too swank for romance. The smltliy was n runt and not the brawny type of the poetical Imagine tlon. What made It. worse was that he smoked eigarefs. A blacksmith should chew tobacco. And what a tnltksop age It Is—there was n rnpv o] Vanity Fair In one of the chillis. I didn't hiive the heart to look for ■ wrist watch on the smiths s arm It must ha.ve been there. (Cupriteat. itjt.j 2 X ... . . .. man nose reddened markedly before sound Burgundy changed for dry champagne. The dinner, indeed, was up to the Peake standard. Only there was s difference which six persons, perhaps, might have noticed. Harris, the but ler. was bound to know it. The gen tie eye of Jimmy Wilder, trained to detail, observed the change almost rs soon as he had taken his place at the table. Mis t Sunshine Buckner, who seldom allowed 111 news to slip by without a sniff from her queer little nose, got wind of it and made a note for the meeting of the All Saints Sew lug Circle. Then there was Flora Dee. Her languid gaze, always dream ing upon some project of her own. wandered across the table and in spired the unsettling question. What had become of the gold service plates.' Certainly they should be out for a state dinner like this. They were ceremonial dishes. But what had be come of them? A sudden, disturbing thought caused her to bite her lip, then laugh more boisterously than ever into the ear of her most humor ous ex fiance, the funny Den Hawlek who sat at her right. But Margaret wasn't noticing small things that night. She took more champagne than she was used to and went on recklessly with Jimmv Wild er, never a poor second in a contest of words. Through it all she was holding. herself to one fixed purpose. . . . Don't lot them know. ... Be a sport. See it through. Don't let any body know. After dessert a strange orchestra appeared; four negroes with stringed instruments and a fifth who made a strange hollow music by blowing into the mouth of a stone jug. This or ganization was called the “jug hand" and its members, when not in the workhouse, furnished music for such parties as preferred the native synco pations to neat waltzes and one steps. While the ladies of a more dignified age retired to the Blue Room and the Judge led his Intimates toward coffee in the library, the jug hand's preliminary toot sent a dozen younc couples twisting and capering through the astonished drawing room. “Come on, Mahgaret,” invited Jim my Wilder, extending an arm to re reive her. Margaret Peake stood very still in the doorway. She tried to keep the pain out of her eyes, but Jimmy must have known. He knew so many things withovit being told. “Jimmy, dear." she said, laying a hand on his arm. "You'll forgive me, won't you. I can't—” And she was gone, flying up the stairs to escape her shameful tears. While the Sycamore Club Set danced like negroes in the drawing room two tine gentlemen of two words sat in the library playing the game of i hess. Judge Peake's silvery head and San Pilar's were close together across a handsomely enameled chess tably. In a far corner Dr. Furnlss and Dr. Wiggin, equally mellowed with wine, were holding their semi annual quarrel. Both of them had fattened enormously In the last Jive years, and they sat together like a pair of casks. Garnett Peake had, as usual, arranged his bridge game and, in spite of the African hullaba loo In the drawing room and the clap ter of gossiping matrons in the Blue Room beyond, bishops and aces were maneuvered for advantage. San Pilar, who preferred chess to cards, just as he preferred archeology to horseracing, delighted in the old gentleman’s handling of his pieces. A fine work of art, this Peake, silent and dignified and courteous. Some how he reminded the Marquis of his father, that distinguished skeleton who had ordered Carlos Domingo out of the house because he had refused a second duel at Cannes Somewhat more skillful at. chess than his oppo nent, the Marquis played carelessly, hie inner mind busy with ideas and Impressions. There was a golden glory about this Flora Dee. . . . She wouldn't kiss him him any more. He rather thought he knew the reason why. “Tour play, sir," suggested the judge, looking up from the board. “Your pardon, sir," smiled the Mar quis, moving a castle three squares back. Then with the resigned shrug of a good sportsman. “It was well played. I should have met your gam bit with the king's bishop." “1 have no doubt, sir," replied the Judge, “that you might have had me there." He had just reached an unsteady hand for the prize when bis attention was diverted by the Spaniard s words, low and distinct. “f risk your pardon, sir. But your younger granddaughter—" Judge Peake raised Ills eyes, filmed with age and red-rimmed: the' were old eyes, but instinct with intelli gence. "Flora. I,ce, you mean?” “Flora Dee, yes. I do not know what is the custom in America. You will pardon my ignorance. I wish to ask the honor of marriage with her." Judge Peake sat back and content plated his antagonist for an Instant. “You mean you're In love with her?" “Very much, sir." “She not mine to give, sir. It's her father's affair. But I'm very fond ot the child." “She la adorable.’* He said this with genuine feeling. "But In my country there are certain customs— perhaps here, I do not know. The lady’s personal fortune, her dot—" ! "It has never been the custom here or anywhere else—" the old gentleman was magnificent at that moment— “to Inquire into the personal fortune? of my family. She is a Peake, and that should be enough.” _ "I appreciate your sentiments," said the Marquis, outwardly quite un disturbed. He had passed the point of cool calculation. Whatever her dowry—much or nothin?—he would marry her and take her baclj to Paris. His own fortune was sufll dent. Upon that thought he made a reckless move, taking a red knight with his castle. "I have you checkmated, sir,” said the Judge, pushing a bishop In rang* with the white king. “'Nicely played, sir. I congratulate you. And if you will pardon me—” He arose and bowed reremoniously while the Judge came creakingly to hi* feet, returning the courtesy. "I thank you, sir. for the game." The Marquis strolled across to the bridge table and awaited the mo ment when Oarnett Peake, being dummy, spread out hi* cards and left the table in search of a fresh cigar. "Mr. Peake,'' began the Marquis Joining him. "It will take Just a mo merit, so I shall not Interrupt yout gams." "Won't you have a olgar. sir?** "No, thank you—a eigaret, if 70R please." H«t drew a long breath of smoke before the formal queatlon, "May I have the honor, sir. of ask- \ Ing your daughter to marry me?" (To Rp CnnHniiffl Tomorrow.) THE NEBBS happy new year! Pirected for 1 lg*5iffy,,re by 301 i X'/AVJD »S SvUS WHAT SOU CAU. A /UV/E MEW SEAR’S PARTS T WHS \M / MOM\EWOOO WE COt UP ^ORE At A StPAWQERRW FEStWAL- A MO O'O WE WAVE AtlME LAST MEW SEARS ! _ V WE MEVER CuO GO HOME UWTU. WE V WAO to GWL The wall UP roR A imS™ >2P'^tk,'T"',E ****•< ■ ERMIE ARE SPEV4D1M6 tHlS EVEMIMG At THE *RLACV< CAT" / ITS M\CC THE WAVY/* C&VJ'T PLEA.SE VOU . LAST Y > 'VOO'PE flkCXlWG * XOU ] NEAP I VUA.S TOO KJOlSX AmO L JUST MfVOE UP XOUP (hwS VkVnTucoV^ NUNlO THAT VOU SES'DES VOUw oPOTMEh V VMEaLWT GOvkiG TO EQM\E \$» &«CAOOS>'YMG ) SK GOOD tTmE /1 m VM THE S^EW^LLEH&TH/y Barney Google and Spark Plug Just to Keep Sparky From Getting Homesick. Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Billy DeBeck fir'This is a fine CoNmier11 | I SISN^D-GininG '' II ‘SuU.tVJAN FUIU charge || OF MY SPARKY* WHAT ■ Doe5 he ynoh) about 1 I training a horse- ?"* j AND THE 4*3000?°. j HANDICAP a day after. ! I T^MORRovO. BOT ! 1, what was 1 Gonna ■ l j, do without a nicyel. / V my sock... / B | \ PPIMf*IM/'1 IIP FATI4FP R'*l,,*r'd SEE jiggs and macgie in full Drawn for The Omaha Bee by McManus DlMi^ullTvl v/JT r r\ 111L.1X u. s. p.um office page of colors in the Sunday bee (Copyright mo Ijb e>REMMM MtclL OO ^E^TTZh ; tsi^wT v;EAO. • y » That Guiltiest Feeling By Briggs ABIE THE AGENT Drawn for The Omaha Bee by Hershfield Off With the Old. on With the New. !