The Omaha Sunday Bee
AMUSEMENTS
EDITORIAL
i . , , k
OMAHA, SUNDAY MORNING, JULY 3, 1921.
1 D
TEN CENTS
VOL. 51 NO. 3.
tack a. FeaftlheE' in His Haft By miuam Aimon woiff
Bill Halliday,' Exile, Learns a
Thing or Two About Pyro
technics and Wins His
Heart's Desire.
BILL HALLIDAY sat straight up In bed at
the door opened. He stared at his father,
who, blinking a little, came in. Mr. Halll
day was In evening dress; he seemed to be vast
ly surprised. So was Dill; he hadn't supposed
that his mother and father would be back from
the theater for another hour. They must have
seen the light In his window, he reflected, bit
terly; that was what had betrayed him. That he
had forgotten to lock his door didn't matter.
"Had for your eyes, reading In bed," said
Mr. Halliday. "Your mother tells me she's
spoken to you about It before."
He came over and sat down beside Bill. He
wasn't angry; he didn't speak harshly. It sur
prised Bill a good deal that It should be his
father, rather than his mother, who had come
to deal with him. He aw very little of his
father, and didn't know him well; that man of
great affairs had llttlo time for his son.
"What's this?" said Mr. Halliday. He
picked up the paper-covered book Bill had been
reading. "Hello!" he said, and stared down at
the boy, more surprised than ever. ' "Spalding's
Football Guide?" Swift suspicion came Into
his eyes. "Got another book under the covers?
Nick Carter er " His memory failed.
"No, sir!" said Bill. "I I was Just reading
about the teams at home, father! Yale had a
great team last year! That Coy he kicked two
goals against Harvard! Did you know that?
Eight points, that was. They don't count the
same way In America that we I mean that
they do here, do they?"
IP "I believe not," said Mr. Halliday. "It's a
(.different sort of game, Bill."
"It must be. ' There aren't but 11 on a team,
instead of 15 like soccer, that is. Soccer's a
muff game, though. It's more like rugger, Isn't
it, father at home, I mean?"
"Yes. You'd better go to sleep now, though.
Bill." He picked up the book; stood looking
uncertainly at his son.
"Father let me keep that book, please? I
won't read any more tonight, if you will I
promise. But It's not mine "
Mr. Halliday dropped the book at once.
"Where did you get It, Bill?"
"Ted Little lent it to me."
"Who's he?"
"He was a new boy last term. He's from
Chicago, father. He's going home next sum
mer. He's going to Prlnoeton. Father "
"Well?"
"When are we going home? We'va been
over here an awful long time, haven't we?"
Why I don't know, , BilV Mr, Halliday ,
said, slowly. "You've been here most of your
life, haven't you? I have a good deal to do
here. And your mother isn't so well in America.
We may stay here."
"Always?" Bill had to fight to keep from
choking. "Father I want to go home. I want
to go to Princeton. And Ted says he says I
ought to go to Lawrenceville or some school
like that for a year, anyway, first
"We'll have to see, boy," said Mr. Halliday,
slowly. "Your mother thinks you can get a
. . . 1 OVtAa a1Va1 a met ahnnt
sending you to Oxford.'- A good many of the
boys at school are going there, aren't they?"
"Rut thev'r a Enellsh. father.. And I'm
American."
"Well, we'll have to see," said Mr. Halliday,
again. "We've settled down here, you see, Bill.
And it's where we came from, in the beginning.
There have always been Hallldays near Swayth
ling, ever since the time of William the Con
queror." "I don't care!" said Bill. "And 1 don't be
lieve you do. either, father! Weren't there
Hallldays in Washington's army, too?"
"You bet! said Mr. Halliday, before he
thought. "It's pretty late, Bill. Your mother'U
be looking for me if I don't put out your light.
Good night, boy. We'll talk about these things
some other time."
"Good night, father," said Bill. And when
he was alone,, in the dark, he sighed. He wished
he could talk to his father really talk to him.
The way Ted Little did to his. He had lunched
with Ted and Mr. Little one day, and gone to a
cinema afterward. And Mr. Little had talked
about base ball and things Bill hadn't been able
to understand at all, until, later, Ted had ex
plained. About Giants, and Cubs, and White
Sox and Tigers.
It was a long time before Bill slept that
night, even though the light was out, and he
kept his word about reading any more. He
wanted to go home. He had wanted that for a
long time, but lately, since Ted Little and Jim
Vnrrav vnn liven in iew lorn, imu uuuuku
violently with Ted, because he was going to
Yale, had come to school it had been worse.
Ted Little, who had never played cricket In
his life, had been on the first eleven, and every
one expected him to be on the first fifteen, too,
next term. Bill hoped to get his, cap, too; he
had been three-quartir on the second fifteen a
year earlier. Ted had amazed every one with his
bowling. He could make the ball curve in the
air before it struck the ground; no other bowler
Bill had ever seen, even the great county play
ers, whose pictures were in the Graphic and
the Illustrated London News every week, could
do more than make it break forward. It was
all in the way you placed your fingers against
e ball: Ted had shown him, and explained
that In base ball the pitcher could make the
ball do what he pleased.
He was homesiok as desperately homesick
as only a boy who cannot so much as remember
home can be. They had brought him over
when he was very small. Such memories as he
had of home were vague, fragmentary. Trains,
running on a high platform; a tall tower, in the
center of a city, with the huge statue of a man
In a broad brimmed hat on top of it; a beach,
where he had played with other children; po
licemen in yellow helmets and long coats. . . .
He had pieced out his memories with scraps
and bits of pictures out of books that he had
read almost surreptitiously. His mother had not
approved of American stories. But he had spent
long hours in his father's library. There was
dull reading on those shelves for a boy, you
might have thought But Bill would have chal
lenged you fiercely on that score. He knew John
Fiske's "American Revolution" almost by heart
before he was 1?; Hay's great life of Lincoln
was like the Bible to him. And he had ,found
and lost, and found again the most precious
of all his books "The Story of a Bad Boy."
by Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
It was in the pages of that book that the
America he had never known had lived for him.
Through Bailey's eyes he saw long winters of
snowy roads and fields, and frozen ponds, as
unlike as they could be to the open English
country of the midlands where his school was;
glowing autumns, when the woods and hills
were painted in a thousand colors; days and
nights of mischievous delight.
His mother, when he asked her, innocently,
about this and that, was appalled: she had tak
en the book from him. condemning it to be
burnt. Its very title was anathema to her; a
glance at its pages confirmed her fear that it
shrieked wjth the blatant crudity of the Ameri
ca that she had put behind her. But he saved
it, and had gained, through its peril, the know
ledge that his secret hopes and longings must
be forever hidden from the mother, lovely, re
oofak ha wort
i Air "
3
. His life had been odd, confused. There hat.
been-a time of wandering abc-'f.in Franco, iet
many, Italy; a time when' he had seen much of
muse and governess and little of his mother. H
could remember her, radiant and shining, dressed
for the theater or opera, stopping In to bend over
his bed for a moment. Sometimes, on rare
mornings, he had been allowed to go into her
room before he was dressed. Then school; an
English public school. He had taken his knocks
as a youngster; fought his way up through the
lower school, till now he was in the Fifth and
reasonably sure of landing in the sacred pre
cincts of the Sixth next term, with the prospect
of being a 'prefect, perhaps, before so very long.
And to the long wanderings on the conti
nent, when he had moved back and forth across
Europe, seeing Paris, Dresden, Vienna. Munich,
Home, Naples, Venice, there had succeeded the
ordered and 'settled life in England. School al
ways, in the foreground; the house near
Swaythling, in the lovely Hampshire country,
which he really liked; the smart little town
house near Hyde Park. He was happy enough,
he had everything a boy could be supposed to
want, Heaven knows!
But he had never quite stopped wanting to
go home. It had been a great day when he had
discovered that the docks of Southampton were
open to a boy who rode in on the tram from
Swaythling. He used to spend hours there, aft
er that discovery, watching the great steamers
come and go. And it hurt him whenever he
saw a liner bound for home. He envied the
careless people who lined her rails so much that
he hated them.
Of the history of the Halliday Invasion of
Europe Bill knew little or nothing. He knew,
of course, that his father was a Halliday of the
great banking firm of Pierce, Halliday and
Company, and, vaguely, that he was at the head
of the London house. But he guessed, and
guessed correctly enough, with that way that
children have of getting at buried truths, that it
was his mother who was really responsible for
the permanence of this European sojourn. The
facts he could scarcely have understood. Yet
they were simple enough.
The Hallldays were of Philadelphia, and of
that prldeful city's innermost circle. John Hal
liday had crossed its boundaries when he mar
ried; his wife had not been allowed to forget
that The trouble had lain in this: she, too,
was a Philadelphian, but one r:ho dwelt on the
wrong side of Market street. She had expected
her marriage to ennoble her. Her disappoint
ment had angered and embittered her. Original
ly there had been a project, suggested first by
her husband, perhaps, of a year or so abroad,
with the vague prospect of a triumphant return.
But Mrs. Halliday, a shrewd woman, had
not been long in making up her mind to change
that plan. In England her husband's wealth;
his Importance in the financial world, had
opened all door to her; her own beauty and
charm had helped her, too. She found that
English people were simply amused by the idea
of class lines among Americans; one American,
to them, wag much like another, so far as such
things went If they had money, if they were
amusing, they were welcome.
Her eyes were set upon certain precedents.
Americans like her husband had stayed in Eng
land before; had become, in effect, Englishmen.
She could contemplate a future in which she
should be Lady Halliday. Her real hopes and
ambitions she never confided to her husband.
But she saw, with a quiet satisfaction, the way
the sane English life appealed to him; the way
he sank, insensibly, into its comfort. She could
manage John when the time came; she was
sure of that.
Of all this Bill had no Inkling. But after
that night when his father surprised him Bill
was afraid, as he had not been before. Always,
until then, ho had regarded his exile as tempo
rary; he had been sure that, sooner or later,
they would go home. Now, for the first time,
he had to face the possibility of staying away
always or, at least, until he should beold
enough to shape his course for himself. And
he was at an age when a few years loom up like
as many decades.
During the autumn term he had small time
for worry. He was in the Sixth, with Ted Little
and Jim Murray. Bounds were relaxed; the
three of them could go into Bedford, now, when
they were free from schoolroom or from com
pulsory games. There was foot ball, too, to
keep them busy. Ted Little's play was a reve
lation to Bill to the whole school indeed. With
the fiercer, closer American game behind him
and already, at home, college scouts had had
their eyes on Ted against the day when he
should matriculate the old Rugby game was a
holiday for him. He ran with a fierceness un
known to the school backs, sliding off tacklers
one after another, and he followed the ball like
a hawk.
BUI mlb proclaimed himself an American
' They're going to null
tu!" itriJ BilL
. iiiut- terra. . the first time The" school 'wu
surprised, and inclined Ur be offended. It took
Little and .'Murray calmly enough. They were
' real Americans, yes couldn't mistake them. Ted
talked through his nose, rather; their speech
was shot with strange and highly colored bits
of foreign idiom.
"Say!" Ted would cry, hailing someone;
never "I say!" And if you asked him a question
to which the answer was affirmative it was
always "You bet!" instead of "Rather!"
There had been, in the beginning, imper
tinences about Indians in the streets of New
York; sneering comments concerning the crude
ness of American life. But Ted had fought a
few times. In the classic ring near the fives
court, and the school had become strangely re
luctant to harry him upon his nativity there
after. But what was right and natural and ac
cording to kind in the case of Ted or Jim was
rank swank and accordingly to be put down
when it proceeded from Bill from young Hal
liday, who had grown up in the school, and was,
to all outward seeming, as English as any of
them. There was bewilderment in the attitude
the school took toward him, of course, too; why
in the . world should any fellow keep insisting
he was an American' when no one would know
it unless he admitted it? .
Every morning, through the long winter.
Bill struggled to wakefulness 15 minutes before
the rest of the dormitory, slipped on a bathrobe
over his pajamas, and padded through long,
dark corridors to the shower bath near the fives
court, where he and Ted and Jim submitted
themselves to the shock of icy water. Ted had
proclaimed his wonder and his dismay at the
discovery that the bathrooms were open only at
a stated time, when the school bathed in groups,
once a week, and had gained permission to use
this almost forgotten shower.
"We bathed whenever we liked In school at
home," he told Bill. "Golly you hear a lot
about the way an Englishman takes his tub
every morning, but lopk at 'em here! A bath
once a week and that's a rule!"
More swank! Especially in Bill's case.
Freakish customs were allowable in a real for
eigner like Ted, but it was plain cheek when
Halliday did the same thing. BUI, who had
never before, in all his years at the school, been
prominent, began to be distinctly unpopular.
, Restraints that had never irked him before
began, in the light of what Ted and Murray
knew of freedom at home, to be intolerable. In
the Sixth, to be sure, the bounds were wide. You
could walk for miles along roads lined with
hedges full of blackberries, even in late No
vember; even Ted approved of British berries,
and conceded their superiority to those of home.
You could go into Beds any afternoon, and
drink coftee and eat cake in a dingy shop, with
its mock magnificence of red plush cushions.
You could stare at the Jail in which John Bun
yan had been confined for that matter, though,
you could see John Bunyan's house at Elstow
by looking across the fields from the dormitory
windows. You could hire a boat and row on
the sluggish Ouse. But that noble stream, that
the British called a river, provoked ribald laugh
ter in Ted and Jim.
Letters From
Dear Son: I see by th' papers th'
National Bored of Sensors is goin'
to make th' movies so pure they'd
put Bryan hisself to sleep. A sen
sor, as you probably don't know, is
a man what takes the sense out o'
the fillums. It seems they've had a
whole lot of trouble lately with kids
goin' to th' movies an' then comin'
home an shootin' their gran'folks.
This kind o' thing ain't right. We
got to keep the American gran'folk
from bein' exterminated.
The sensor folks has made a study
o' crime an' they found that the only
reason we ain't all crooks is because
nobody ever showed us how. Ac
cordin' to figgers, whenever you see
a picture of a man hittin' his friends
ever the head ;your ust idear is to
try it on the fellow next to you. The
only reason you waited so long is
because you never thought of it be
fore. Th' same is true o' shootin' your
relatives, fishin on Sunday, train
wreckin', kickin' th' dog an' forgery.
Every man what sees these things
in the pictures has a nateral cravin'
to go home an try 'cm in th back
yard, JVhen yon see him, buyin hii
tickets at the door he may look to
you like a meek little fellow what
wouldn't allow fly paper in his house
fcr fear of annoyin' th' flies. As a
matter o' fact, though, all he needs
t' make him a runnin' mate o' Cap
tain Kids is edycation.
Think o' all th' histery we could
'a saved ourselves from learnin' if
we could o' discovered this idear
earlier. Take Cain f r instance. He
was all right till his mother took
him to see a picture show called
"The Cheese Makers Revenge." In
the big climax th villin knocks th'
hero fer a home run with a stone
dicktionary.
Up to then Cain had been a model
boy, helpin weed th' garden an' see
in' that his father didn't fritter away
all his time eatin" apples an' fool in'
with th' snakes, which were his
great failin's. The picture did fer
him, though. He come right home
an' tried it out on his little brother,
Abel, an' was th' first one to get his
name carved on the police records.
Why Brutus Turned.
Brutus would never 'a thought o'
whittelin' up Ceasar if he hadn't
picture, .called ".Oranibuf
. A. '-J-
"It's not a river! It isn't even a creek! It's
a brook!" said Jim. And Ted agreed, and they
talked of rivers a mile wide, until Bill groaned.
Christmas came, and for Bill two weeks at
Swaythling. There was good Christmas cheer.
But he longed for snow; he couldn't even skate!
He had wanted to ask Ted home for the holi
days, but his mother had written that it would
not be convenient. Yet the house had been no
more than half full of guests. Back to sohool
after that, and the long grind until Easter in
London, when he did see something of Ted.
Bill hated the second winter term at school.
Foot ball was all over; hockey had never ap
pealed to him; he thought It was a girl's game.
And Ted talked of what he called real hockey,
which you played on the ice, skating after a
puck endowed with life as it slid across the
frozen surface of a rink.
It was at Easter that Ted spoke out frankly.
"I thought you were coming home some time
soon, BUI?" he said. "You and your folks?"
They had been having lunch with Mr. Litttle,
and he, having business, had suggested a mati
nee and furnished tickets.
"We are directly my father finishes' his
business here," said Bill, a little flushed. '.
"Well but say Dad he says your fath
er's going to stay here and turn Englishman!
He says he's - never going home says your
mother won't let him "
"My mater " Bill wanted to say something
in her defense, but he choked on the words. He
stared at Ted, dismayed, horrified. For the first '
time the Becret fear that had been mounting in
him had been expressed. "The governor won't
do that!" he cried fiercely. "He's aa American .
-yau bet"
"WeiK tfeat'a wha. tVCiry!!e' saying- that's
all I know," said Ted. "All the men my da&
meets Americans here. I guess he heard It
first from Mr. White. He's a newspaper man, ,
and I guess he knows what he's talking about."
"I guess he dowm'tr ld mil. -"Not if he
says things like that! You mind your own busi
ness, young Ted!"
"Oh, all right I was only telling you what
I'd heard! You needn't get stuffy. Keep your
shirt on as you'd say!"
Bill dined with his mother, alone, that eve
ning: an unusual privilege. And he gained
the courage to speak to her.
"Mother we are going home, aren't we?"
he said.
-Why I don't know" She looked at him
curiously. It was hard for Mrs. Halliday to
realize that Bill was growing up; that before
so very long she would have two men. Instead
of one, to manage. "Do you want to, so very
much, Bill? How do you know you'd like
America? You can't remember it"
"No. But it's home ",
She frowned.
"It's home here, too. Isn't it, Bill? You've
grown up here. You like school, don't you?"
He nodded. "And Swaythling? All your friends
are here. Don't you want to go to the universi
ty when they do?"
He shook his head.
"I want to go to Princeton."
"You must talk to your father," she said.
"You don't quite understand, I suppose, Bill.
But your father is a very important man. Some
one has to live here to look after business for
his firm. Someone will have to do that, al
ways. We've thought that you could do it, when
your father retires. And it will be better if
you're really an Englishman "
"But I can't be that mother! I'm an
American!"
"Do you know what it means when anyone
is naturalized. Bill?"
He Just stared at her.
"If your father were to be naturalized, for
instance, he'd be an Englishman, afterward.
And you and I would be English, too, because
we belong to him."
"But he won't be, mother! He he
couldn't"
"He's been thinking about it, Bill. I suppose
you will have to decide for yourself, later.when
you're 21. But just now your father has to do
what seems best to him."
"It it's not fair!"
"Bill. That's rude. Your manners haven't
been very nice since you have been going around
so much with that American boy Little, Isn't
it?" ..
"I'm sorry, mother. But-?-"
"We won't talk any more about it, dear.
Your father will talk to you, when he has made
' up his mind."
Bill tried to see his father before he went
back to school for the long term. But it was
almost as if Mrs. Halliday sought to prevent a
meeting between them. Nor did Bill see much
more of Ted. Never had he seen so much of
his mother during his holidays. He lunched
with her at the Carlton; once she took him with
Home - Made Father to His Son
Carryallque," which was havin' a
great run in Rome just then. He'd
always been his crony an' when
Ceaser ran fer Alderman, he voted
fcr him 122 times which was quite
a lot in them days when it was so
hard to get round.- After he'd been
to the picture, though, nothin would
do till he'd used a letter opener on
him to find out what he was stuffed
with.
It's generally knowed that the
whole trouble with Jesse James was
his father bein' a movin' picture
operator. The old man couldn't
read an' little Jesse, who was then
the pillow o' the Sunday school,
used to help him out evenin's by
stickin' in the special slides announc
in' the. Gran' Openin' o' the Min
erva Lawndry an' the Sale o' White
Goods at the Emporium. Then one
night they run a . William S. Hart
before his innocent eyes. He imme
diately shot the doorman, took $1.86
out o' the box office an' went into
business fer hisself.
Some day th' sensors'U have a
big marble hall built fer 'em with
solas scattered around 10's they can
lis Pa thsk bscki a' cu put every-
her to Paris for a week-end; he must go with
her in the motor when she went shopping: be
home when people came in for tea.
He was glad to get back to school. He was
made a prefect; Traill major had not come
back, having gone to Sandhurst The Head
talked to him soberly of his new responsibili
ties, and Bill was rather awed. It was some
thing to be one of those to hold In charge tra
ditions that had come down through centuries.
The school was a medieval foundation.
The quarrel between Bill and Ted was for
gotten. Ted had imparted all his knowledge of
the art of curving a bail, so that BUI, who had
always been a good slow bowler, became al
most Invincible. Then, too, he and Ted played
tennis together, and in the long hours of prac
tice Ted grew accustomed to turf courts and
taught BUI to come up to the net and hold his
place, volleying always, and how to kill a rising
ball. In doubles they soon proved themselves
the masters of the school; Bill's conservative
game, quickened by Ted's teaching, fitted in
well with Little's dashing play.
This was to be the last term for Little and
Murray; Bill could not see enough of them.
Both were going home that summer.
"It's a crime the way we have to stay here
all through July." said Murray. "Lord at home
we get through early in June. Ted and I'll get
back Just about in time to get ready to go
back In September."
"That's a sell," Bill agreed. "But you're go
ing home "
"You bet we are! Wish you were coming,
too, old scout! Say come on! Make them let
you. Come on up to Exeter with me and to
Yale next year. You'd have a good chance to
make the freshman team and I'll bet you'd
make the 'Varsity afterward."
"Forget It, Jim! He's booked for Prince
ton." Bill sighed. - He was losing hope. His moth
er had told him that he had been entered al
ready for Magdalen college at Oxford; he should
be ready to go up after one more year at school.
April passed into May; May, swiftly, into
June. Bill could begin to count the days that
were left of companionship with Jim and Ted.
They had formed a triumvirate; one for all and
all for one, against the school. Pill would have
to pay later, he knew, when they were gone; the
school would neither forget nor forgive. But
heclung desperately to his last link with home.
And on a day late in June, in the same post, let
ters came to Little and to Murray that set them
to cheering.
"We're going home!" Ted shouted to Bill,
waving his letter. "On the same ship! We're
sailing from Southampton on the third of Au
gust! Oh, boy I'll see a ball game at the Polo
grounds in less than two months!"
"You're coming to stay with me," said Jim.
"We're going straight to Maine- and open the
house! I've got a motor boat
, Sill turned away. But later he went Into
Beds, loyally, to . Join the celebration. Coflf
and cake, and a -SttrrtpUtus clgaret, to be
smoked with a duly watchful eye f t stray mas
ters who might be passing.
"Wish we were going home for the Fourth,"
saloT Tea. " 'This makes twice I've missed that!'.
"I've never seen a-v fireworks for the
Fourth!" said Bill.
"Say" v t.
They turned to look at Murray. He aa 0ne
broad grin. , ,
"Can't we pull something off next week?" he
said. "We might get hold of a few fireworks!
Glory wouldn't they be sore
BUI lifted his head. His eyes were shining;
his cheeks flushed.
"Those French chaps they got a half holi
day last year for Bastile day!" he said. "Sup
pose we asked the Head "
For' a moment Little and Murray were silent,
awed" by the sheer splendor of the thought. They
then whooped.
"Would he? Would there be a chance? Let's
ask! Oh, Lord think of the school how
they'd hate us!"
"We'll auk," said Bill. "After call-over to
day. And then If we could get .some fire
works." He emptied his pockets. "I've got nine
and threepence and we all get some pocket
money Saturday "
"They pooled their wealth. They had nearly
two pounds among them. They left half filled
cups; hurried to Sadler's, the shop that lived on
the school's trade.
"Fireworks? Ho yuss when fireworks
time comes, boys! Fifth of November there'll
be plenty."
But for the Fourth of July not so much as
a rocket or a squib!
"That's all right, too," said Ted. "I'll write
to my father!"
"So'll I!" Jim echoed. Bill would have giv
en anything he possessed to be able to say the
same. But he dared not But he pressed his
money upon Ted; begged him to send it to his
father, and ask him to spend It for his share.
This why, this might be his last, as it was his
first, opportunity to celebrate the Fourth!
The letters were posted; Sadler could furnish
paper and envelopes, pen and stamps. And
later the three of them filed into the Head's
study and made their request. He received it
without a smile. But then, his long beard hid
his Hps.
"I might call this Yankee cheek," he sug
gested. "Have you thought that the school
would not be er pleased?"
"You gave it to Blanc and Michaud last
year, sir," said Bill stoutly. .
"So I did so I did! On your own heads be
itl You shall have your half holiday. You may
be excused from afternoon call over and from
games."
Now if Mr. ' Little and Mr. Murray would
do their part! And they did! There were two
great packages, wrapped In brown paper, for
Ted and Jim on the third of July; the school,
hovering about, eager in the anticipation of
thinjr without tirin' theirselves.
"Gentlemen," says th' Producer,
some'at nervous, "I'm goin' to show
you a new picture called 'Treasure
Island' by a chap called Stevenson."
"Never heard o' him," says th'
Chairman, ' "but th' name would
cause a lot o' class feelin.' Change
it to 'Staten Island.'"
Well, . they go on an' show th
picture an' th' fust scene is in th'
barroom o' the Admiral Benbow
Inn. A man named Cap'en Bones is
stampin' up an' down th' room con
sumin' large quantities o' likker.
Title: "Cap'en Bones, an ex-pirate."
' Cut that out," says the chairman.
"Change it to 'Cap'en Bones, an
old seaman.' An' change that bar
room scene to the lobbv o' the ho
tel. If you want th' Cap'en to be
doin somethin' show him signin'
his name in the register."
In th' next scene a man with a
wooden leg comes in an' there's a
terrible fight. Cap'en Bones chases
him out o' th' house with a cutless
an' then falls dead of a ht.
"Cut all that out," says the sensor.
rfTw la fam JEteM. Cotoma atxj
tuck that night, was disappointed when the par
cels were carried to the study that BUI enjoyed
by virtue of being a prefect But that evening
they transferred everything to an unused wood
en rick in Elstow, for the use of which a
smocked rustlo had thankfully accepted a shil
ling. They lived through school, somehow, on
the morning of the Fourth; it wasn't easy, but
they had no choice. They were free with the
ending of the morning's last lesson, and set nut
at once along the Bedford road, leaving an un
suspicious school, incapable of imagining so dire
an insult behind them. But when they had
gone a quarter of a mile they heard an out
break of shouts and cries behind them.
"I guess they've seen it!" said Bill and waa
proud that he had guessed and not fancied.
"Seen what?" said Ted.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you! I put up a notice
on the board. Just this: The school Is In
vited to attend a display of fireworks, to cele
brate the Fourth of July, Independence day, at
9 o'ejock tonight' And I signed our names!"
"That's the plu-perfect touch!" Bald Ted.
"Oh, Bill don't you ever let anyone make an
Englishman of you!"
"I don't believe our dear classmates love us
very much just now," said Jim. "Bill, if I were
French I'd kiss you!"
They lunched at the hotel in superb state:
money orders had come for Little and Murray,
as well as the fireworks, from fathers who rev
membered not only their own boyhood but cer
tain evidences of British condescension of mora
recent date.
A cinema was tempting, but Bedford was no
safe haunt for them that afternoon. They
could trust the school, they knew; that threat
ened show of fireworks could never come off if
they put themselves in the way of being cap
tured. And so, after, lunch, they were off, clr
cling the school widely, striking out into open
country, out of bounds for all save those who
were, like themselves, of the Sixth. They had
tea In an old thatched farmhouse; eggs warm
from the nest, foamy milk, strawberries with
clotted cream; rock cakes.
Later, as the shadows grew longer, they
made their way back, with infinite caution, to
ward the school. Scouting parties were out
looking for them; they avoided roads and made
their way through fields of mangel wurzel and
potatoes, sinking deep In the soft earth. Twice
they watched parties of the enemy, lying hidden
behind thick hedges. But they came to Elstow
at last, somewhere near 8 o'clock. It was not
dark. But then, Indeed, real darkness would
not come at all that night, and it was dark
enough for the fireworks to make a show.
They had chosen their spot and prepared It
against their need. It was in a remote corner of
the playing fields, with the embankment of the
Midland railway at the back and a brick wall
at one side. They had contrived a sort of bar
ricade of branches to protect their front; the
other flank was covered by a Jungle of thorn
bushes. Their approach with their burden in
volved, a double crossing of the railway
and a double breach of the sternest of all ohool
rules, since to step upon the embankment waa
strictly forbidden. But they were dealing in
'-liSP. now, not in lambs.
8lev,-'y they made their way. They had to
wait for t'!? trains to. pass. But they were
ready at last ilockets were planted In the
ground; roman can31s giant crackers, squibs
were piled up; to the brifk wall was affixed the
piece that was their crowning glory thing
contrwi t0 8Pt a great American .Tag ablaze.
Eagerly thi-y etut,t. their watches. They
could hear a murmur of ,ices Irom tne dlr
tlon of the fives court; the school was waitlna
They might have set off their div at Elstow
and escaped before pursuit could reh them
But it had seemed to them that their ho.r was
involved Jn staying on school ground.
"Time," said Bill, at last, and lit the fuse f
the first rocket. For a moment it hissed ani.
sputtered; then a streak of fire shot upward,1
and a minute later, with a bang, the rocket
burst, high abovo them, in a constellation of red
and green and yellow stars. Ted had lighted
the set piece; already, as the rocket burst, stars
and stripes were appearing on the wall.
There was a yell from the fives court; at once
they saw a dark mass charging across the field.
"They're going to rush us!" said BUI. "Aim
the roman candles right at them and chuck
some squibs to go off at their feet! They won't
be hurt, but I fancy they'll stop!"
So they stood, roman candles in their hands,
pouring out threatening balls of fire, flinging
lighted squibs and giant crackers. There was no
harm in the false Are they flung, but the moral
effect was tremendous. It took more than boy
ish nerves could furnish to face that barrage;
furiously the great American flag burned bright
ly and the rockets rose.
"Come out, you sneaks! Fight fair! You'ra
trying to put our eyes out!"
"We'll fight fair if youSvlll!" That was Ted.
"We'll take you on, three at a time!"
There was another rush, but again the ro
man candles and the exploding crackers checked
"Come on come on, you cads!" Bill cried.
"Who's afraid now?"
Turf was flying: stones; fives balls, small and
hard, that some genius in the attacking force
had thought of bringing up. But the spirits
of the Americans soared high, like the rockets
they sent skyward: they were above feeling
pain. And so it went, until, at last, they had
made good their boast, and the last rocket had
flown upward, the last candle been discharged.
The flag was fading out now, as star after star,
stripe after stripe, burned out
The school scented its chance; charged again,
and swept over the barricade, this time, to vic
tory. But it was a victory hollow and cheap.
The numbers were too great for discrimination
when blows were being dealt; friend struck
friend as often as foe. And then the masters,
who had been strangely deaf to all the tumult,
came, and discipline came into its own again.
"O, come on, fellows!" cried Bill. "What do
we care for these cads? They can't light unless
they're a hundred to one!"
Arm in arm, untouched in spirit, defiant still,
they swaggered across the field. It was Ted
Little who began to whistle that air his ances
tors had transformed from a taunt into a boast'
"Yankee Doodle came to to-own,
Riding on a pony.
Stuck a feather in his cap
And called it macaroni!"
They heard laughtet before them; saw three
men who were coming to meet them.
"Dad!" Ted sprang forward; Murray was at
his heels, greeting his father, too . There was
a lump in Bill's throat. And then, amazed, in
credulous, he stood still, unable to believe hf
ears.
"Hello, boy!"
It was his father.
"Father!" he cried. "How I never dreamed
you were here
John Halliday chuckled, ruefully.
"Sam Little told me what you fool youngsters
were up to," he said. "I well, I thought I'd
come down. By George you sure did hand it
to those Englishmen, boy! I I've been talking
to your motntr. Bill. Do you still want to
home?"
(Copyright. 1921, Br William Almeo Wolff.)
NEXT SUNDAY
"MISS MARY SMITH'-'
By Elisabeth Jordan. ,