(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>REM<rAbr) ( i don't know
l s < PLEAbE DON'T
V rr °'bT(JRtb ME • I M
I JObT Fin I bH INC,
jit'///, \ UP My CRObb
Gr««t Bri'cq t«Mi rwrv*»i / ^ 3 f |l
OOOCJH NOT',' I
ah: ju^jT H
the word \ I
—II — I
JERRY ON THE JOB start the new year right. Drawn for Tha °"’aba,?ee by Hoban
AZt ThE QuSimES^ BbCOCOS
rcz \<524-s~hsv Swomj a LoSS
oc 42 =• 'Em 1jp
no SuOM ‘Em 'To AAti. “\
G.'JUSW /ftwo^EU. >MM
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.
!
