Newspaper Page Text
, EDVAPD MARSHALL with photographs (^^jPL,
FROM TfiC PLAY CF GEORGE M.COMIS ™H5j2 EMSsl3l^lP 7
SYNOPSIS.
Jackson Jones, nicknamed “Broadway"
because of his continual glorification of
New York’s great thoroughfare, is anx
ious to get away from his home town of
Jonesville. Abner Jones, his uncle, is
very angry because Broadway refuses to
settle down and take a place in the gum
factory in which he succeeded to his
father’s interest. Judge Spotswood in
forms Broadway that $250,000 left him by
his father is at his disposal. Broadway
makes record time in heading for his
favorite street in New York. With his
New York friend, Robert Wallace, Broad
way creates a sensation by his extrava
gance on the White Way. Four years
pass and Broadway suddenly discovers
that he is not only broke, but heavily in
debt. He applies to his uncle for a loan
and receives a package of chewing gum
with the advice to chew it and forget his
troubles. He quietly seeks work without
success.
CHAPTER III.—-Continued.
Rankin brought him a pink envelope
upon a little silver tray. Rankin was
most careful to bring everything upon
a tray. Broadway steadfastly main
tained that if a drowning man asked
Rankin to bring help he would first
go to get a tray to take it to him on
The pink envelope was marked with
an elaborate monogram, of which the
dominant letter was a “G.” It was
from her whom he had left so short a
time before. Mrs. Gerard, by means
of it, implored him to become a mem
ber of a theater and supper party for
that evening. The note almost was
affectionate.
The theater and supper parties were
to both occur in Broadway! Ah,
Broadway! It would be hard to leave
it by the chilly by-path, death, which
leads out of the light into the shad
ows!
It occurred to Broadway Jones that
he might decently accept this invita
tion, even if the crowd which she
would have would probably be not
quite to his liking. Ah, there were
crowds upon the thoroughfare he
loved which were so fully to his lik
ing!
And then another plan flashed into
lus mind. Why not give a farewell
supper? No one but himself would
know it was a farewell supper—all the
rest would think it just the best af
fair of many fine affairs which Broad
way Jones had given. The restaurant
which gave it would be paid undoubt
edly out of the residue of his estate,
and if there wasn’t any residue the
restaurant could well afford to lose. It
had many thousands of his money.
He would make this dinner —no; it
would be better to make it a supper—
the finest little supper which had yet
electrified Broadway. It should
sparkle, it should fizz. It should re
sound with joyful chords and merry
laughter; in short that supper should
achieve the limit and surpass it. Then
would he be more content to go.
He locked the -poison and the fire
arm carefully in a desk drawer. He
called Rankin, and, to that staid serv
ant’s great delight, made out the list
of invitations to the wildest supper
he had ever planned; he telephoned to
his good friend, the restaurateur. Re
turning to the study he took the poi
son and the pistol from the drawer
and put them in another. The second
drawer had two locks, while the first
drawer had but one. He refused again
to think about them until after be had
given the extraordinary supper.
CHAPTER IV.
The asphalt glittered with the glaze
of recent rain, reflecting countless
lights of many colors. The sidewalks,
crowded with gay theater goers, were
as colorful and animated a 3 the chang
ing figures of a child's kaleidoscope,
and he smiled at them. Even the odor
of burned gasoline which drowned the
perfume of fair women’s presence
seemed as frankincense and myrrh to
him—for this was Broadway, the be
loved thoroughfare.
And was it not to be his last night
in its glitter, his last hearing of its
medley, his last glimpsing of its nerv
ous gaiety? He smiled —the wan smile
of the prisoner who sees his friends
and joys in them before he marches
to the guillotine.
In the restaurant there was obvious
stir when he arrived. There always
was a stir in restaurants when he ar
rived. With a practiced and a clever
eye he examined with great care the
private dining-room wherein was to be
sung the swan-song of his spendthrifti
ness. It was extremely well arranged,
the table was a dazzling sight, the
flowers were gorgeous and of all-per
vading fragrance, the colored candle
shades cast a subdued, artistic glow
upon the whole. The head waiter
himself, his neck enchained in sign
of office, was in personal control of
details, his staff had been well picked
from Broadway’s favorites among sub
ordinates; a very pretty girl, who
smiled at Broadway sweetly, wistfully,
as a peasant maid might smile at a
crown prince, was ready to accept and
check the ladies’ wraps, while the
small boy in buttons, who was to sort
End store the outer garments of the
gentlemen, was ready with bright eyes
■ —and itching palms.
The party arrived promptly, coming
in a bunch and greeting Broadway va
riously from the firm and hearty hand
clasp of Bob Wallace, to the merry
kiss of Inez Vasquez Marquez, Span
ish dancer, born in Keokuk, who would
leave early so that she might dance
late on the bill at the Spring Garden.
There was a flutter with the entrance
of Mrs. Gerard, for, as ever, she
brought with her her own maid, while
her footman waited in the corridor,
not for emergencies, but for appear
ances.
Her once pretty but now age-puck
ered face had been as thoroughly con
cealed as possible with various expen
sive substances which are found in
beauty parlors, and her hair was prob
ably the most costly in that part of
town that night, and this is saying
much, for very costly tresses some
times deck the fair on Broadway.
The restaurant had wrought evi
dences of its pride la its allegiance to
Broadway’s favorite delicacy. A gi
gantic floral lobster occupied the cen
ter of the table, its antennae extend
ed toward the host, one of its claws
stretched toward the seat reserved for
Mrs. Gerard, the other somewhat less
fond of the ladies, for it yearned hun
grily toward Bob Wallace’s place. At
each lady’s place were little lobsters,
nicely wrought of gold, with jeweled
eyes, for each male guest a silver cig
arette case had been fashioned into a
disconsolate lobster’s shape with
curled-up tail and drooping claws de
voutly folded on its breast.
Broadway was a perfect host, hos
pitable, easy, readier to listen than
declaim, full of admiration for the
ladies, full of the perfection of good
fellowship for his men guests.
At first he found it difficult to put
out of his mind the thought that this
would be the last of all his gorgeous
nights on Broadway. The notion
fought for permanent position in his
head that after wild hours he
would be as far from Broadway as that
earnest cow-explorer which was cred
ited with having first laid out the
street. The thought continually ob
truded that this must be to him a
funeral, not a festal feast. His hand
shook as he raised his glass to the
first toast.
Visions of that blued-steel automatic
pistol and that bottle with its crimson
label floated momently before his eyes.
Ah, that steel was not the blue of
the diaphanous gown which the pretty
Winter Garden dancer wore across the
table from him; oh, how the red of
that red label differed from the red of
the red roses! It was not at all the
red of the red lobster!
In his dining he had reached that
stage where over-stimulated emotion
found an outlet in the bitterest self
condemnation which he yet had man
aged to evolve since the beginning of
his self-condemnatory days—that is,
since he had been awakened to the
realization of the disappearance of his
Mrs. Gerard.
patrimony and the utter hopelessness
of everything. He looked at the great
decoration in the center of the table
and said gravely, so that all might
hear, although he was addressing no
one but the lobster:
“You may be big, old chap, but I
know a bigger lobster than you ever
w r ere.”
It happened at that instant that a
pause had come in the excited joy
ousness about him —one of those brief,
unexpected silences which never fail,
at least once in every dinner-party, to
reveal to everyone some saying which
the sayer wished to have unheard by
the majority. Always it is something
awkward, inadvertent, stupid or un
wholesome which is thus made bla
tantly the property of everybody’s
ears. This night it was our young
host’s confidential statement to the
great, red decorative lobster in the
center of his dinner table.
There was a chorus of inquiry. If
Broadway knew a bigger lobster,
who was he, and where?
“Be careful, Broadway! Don't name
any friend of ours! We’d get peevish,
for that is—some—lobster.”
“Who is it, Broadway?”
“Name, Broadway; name!” demand
ed the whole tableful.
COFFEE COUNTY PROGRESS, DOUGLAS, GEORGIA.
Gloomy and dissatisfied with that
life which he loathed to quit, yet felt
that he could not continue, Broadway
rose and bowed. “I'm it!’’ he an
swered. “I.”
Protests chorused.
“What hard-hearted girl has turned
you down, Broadway?” asked the love
ly Inez.
“Who is it, Broadway? Who could
possibly have the heart or been the
fool to do it?”
Mrs. Gerard, his neighbor, bent on
him a glance so languishing that he al
most had to turn his face away.
“No girl has ever turned me down,”
he said, endeavoring to be gay. “No
girl has ever had a chance to turn me
down. I mean —”
Realizing that this did not sound
gallant, being instinctively, by nature,
a gallant, he would have modified it
if he could, but the howl of approba
tion which arose from all the men, the
chorus of mock criticism which arose
from all the women, drowned his voice.
From all the women except one. That
one sat on his right, that woman was
a widow and was worth a million.
“No girl could turn you down.” she
murmured.
Ah, that thought which so repeat
edly had festered in his brain! Here
were millions which admired him!
Here were milllor.3 which would pay
the debts which had piled up, which
would make the bottle with the
crimson label and the weapon with the
blued-steel bairel quite unnecessary!
Here were millions which would solve
the last one of his difficulties and for
which, if he accepted them, he could
offer adequate return in a devotion
which should be at once that of a son
for an indulgent mother and a near
drowned man for his rescuer! Why
not? Why not? Why not marry Mrs.
Gerard?
“No girl could turn you down,” had
been her words.
In the hurly-burly of the questions
and the answers, the frolic and the
nonsense, he scarcely had an opportu
nity to speak to her In tender words,
but he answered her by scribbling on
her menu card:
“Couldn’t you?”
He felt certain that she gasped with
pleasure.
“Why do you say such things?” she
scribbled.
“Because I love you,” the unfortu
nate youth answered.
“I love you, too," she scribbled in
reply.
“What sort of game are you two
playing there?” demanded Robert Wal
lace gaily.
“Don’t interrupt, Bob,” Broadway or
dered. “It’s a new kind of game of
hearts. It’s played with menu cards.
Shut up!”
He turned again to his delighted, if
ancient partner in the novel pastime.
“It can’t be true,” he scribbled.
“It is true,” she wrote.
“Will you marry me?” he scrawled.
With a coy look at him which made
him feel a little faint, but without an
instant’s hesitation, “Yes,” she an
swered.
It was tremendously to the relief of
the young host that Bob Wallace, at
about this moment, rose and said that
he must leave.
It seemed to Broadway that the
others mattered less. For Wallace his
affection was so genuine that it includ
ed an intense desire to hold the man’s
respect. Sighing w r ith relief he called
the major domo to his side as soon as
Bob had gone and whispered to him
that all glasses must be filled. With
the intense alacrity which the youthful
spendthrift's orders were everywhere
observed along Broadway, this was at
tended to, and he rose to his feet
with all the dignity he could command.
“Friends,” he said, “I want to tell
you something. I want to tell you of
my luck.”
“Is it a hard luck story, Broadway?”
someone asked.
“Er —yes,” said he. “I mean—”
“Jackson!” said a soft voice (per
haps a little cracked) close at his side
with something of reproach in it.
“For the lady,” he hastily corrected.
“Hard luck for the lady. I’m —I’m go
ing to be married.”
The men shouted and there were
more than one among the ladies who
were seriously agitated, their number
being co-equivalent to the number who
themselves at one time or another had
had hopes of winning Broadway and
his millions for their very own.
Everywhere about him rose the
shout: “Who is she, Broadway? Name!
Name! ”
He swayed there on his feet, a some
what sickly smile upon his face, his
hand elaborately spilling champagne
on his shirt front, a fact of which he
was in ignorance and which no one
noted for a time. It was Mrs. Gerard
who called attention to it by elabo
rately dabbing at him with her hand
kerchief.
There were proprietary details even
of movement of her hands and some
shrewd wits suspected for an instant,
even though they put the wild idea
from them as absurd before it gained
firm foothold in their minds.
“Who is* she, Broadway? Name!
Name! Name!” the shouts insisted.
“Guess!" said Broadway strangely.
He felt less worry than he would
have felt before he had imbibed the
last few glasses of champagne. He
had been drinking very busily since
the dreadful thought had been put into
execution. He had been certain he
would need some artificial courage.
It gathered in his soul and helped
him fashion an extraordinary smile —
vacuous and tremulous, but none the
less a smile.
"Viola?” hazarded a reckless youth
across the table, ami Viola (who was
present in the makeup which she had
worn from the stage of a near theater,
where she had, that evening, acted
powerfully the part of a wronged and
innocent maidenhood) hoped wildly for
an instant. Perhaps Broadway, in his
cups, had decided on this most unusual
way of asking her the fateful ques
tion! She had had high hopes of him.
Perhaps—”
“No,” he answered ihickly. “Guess
again. Three guesses. It’s going to
take some brains, I tell you thpt! In
tellect's the only thing’ll do it. Who
ever guesses right gets a cigar.”
There was only one among the
ladies present who was not favored
by some speculative mind, and that
one was the right one.
Guesser after guesser named some
of the young and vivid creatures of
that almost wholly young and vivid
feminine company, none guessed the
only faded flower in the gay group.
Broadway, never dreaming of the ag
ony which filled the faded flower’s
much powdered bosom because of the
omission of her name, feeling few emo
tions, really, other than the keen sen
sation of relief from his financial wor
ries, stood smiling somewhat vacantly,
but, on the whole, without much pain,
upon the puzzled party.
“Go on, guess with your brains," he
genially suggested. “It’s mind, not
foot work, that will win the prize.”
But none guessed.
Realizing that in this was something
like reflection on her fitness for the
covetable position of consort to the
youth, Mrs. Gerard attracted every
one’s attention, presently, by a won
derfully feigned embarrassment as she
rose and stood by Broadway’s side.
The party gasped, but rose to the oc
casion as soon as it could get its
breath again. It was Incredible, and
there were those among the guests
who were so sure of this that they
believed a joke was hidden somewhere
in the episode, but the majority were
so well trained to Broadway's genius
for producing mad extravagance that
they simply charged this up as one of
them.
A dancer who had been brought up
from the cabaret below after one
o’clock and closing time had come,
sprang lightly to a table, and, to the
destruction of the floral lobster and
some notably fine glassware, did a gay
pas-seul among the wrecks of sangui
nary shells and emptied bottles. The
head waiter smiled, knowing that
whatever might be broken would be
, charged up in the bill at double value
and paid for without question by the
sensational spendthrift, to whose own
wealth was now linked the extraordi
nary fortune of the recent John Gerard
(wholesale leather) who had made his
millions, married a very vital lady
of his own ripe years and then died of
sheer antiquity, to leave her, trium
phant in superior vitality, relict and
craving for that gaiety which life with
him had not provided.
“Broadway!” breathed the ancient
lady with a skillful simulation of em
barrassment. “You naughty, naughty
boy! ”
“Naughty, possibly; but how ex
tremely lucky!” said the wholly un
expected bridegroom-elect without a
quiver, much to his own .surprise and
self-congratulation.
As it broke up the party rioted with
joy, very largely alcoholic. Mrs. Ge
rard’s car, when It came up from its
hiding place around the corner, was
INSANITY IN ROYAL FAMILIES
Unreason Seems to Be the Rule Rather
Than the Exception Among Occu
pants of European Thrones.
We have to go very far back in the
life of the deposed King Otto of Ba
varia to find any allusions to him
which show him otherwise than as a
lunatic. But as a boy ho is quoted to
have been at pains to be cheerful and
agreeable, while his elder brother Lud
wig sulked. They were brought up
on a severe system of economy, be
ing allowed only 50 cents a week. The
story used to be told that Prince Otto,
hearing that sound teeth were a sale
able commodity, went to a dentist's
and offered to have his own extracted
for a consideration.
The deposition of King Otto brings
reminder that the Bavarian is not the
only royal family in Germany with a
touch of insanity. King Otto’s mother
was Princess Marie of Prussia, closely
akin to Frederick William IV. —brother
of the old kaiser, and granduncle of
the present emperor—who lost his
reason in 1857, and for four years had
to be superseded by the prince of
Prussia as regent—just as George IV.
j of England, for the same reason, acted
for several year 3 in the same capacity
straightway encumbered with the
flowers from ladies’ corsages, table
bouquets and men’s boutonnieres. One
enthusiast thrust in a potted palm,
and Mrs. Gerard screamed when she
sat on it. Another made a thoughtful
contribution of two lobster-claws
which, to his astonishment, ho had
found in his hands as he arrived upon
the sidewalk. A lady, being under the
impression that the wedding had been
celebrated while she briefly napped up
at the table, insisted upon throwing
one white satin slipper at her whom
she believed to be the bride, refusing
to accept the theory that Mrs. Gerard
was, as yet, only Broadway's fiancee.
“But you can’t walk without it,” her
escort pleaded earnestly.
“I’d limp a year for Broadway,” she
insisted, missed Mrs. Gerard’s coiffure
by a quarter of an inch and then burst
into tears.
Four yellow government notes were
placed in circulation in police circles
before the long and rangy touring car
reached the granite archway which in
vited entrance ten stories underneath
the bachelor apartment in which Ran
kin waited for him, sleeping, but with
one ear open for the riot w'hich fre
quently attended the home-coming of
his master.
The car had scarcely come to a
standstill before both eyes were open.
An 4 as the eyes appeared from their
snug hiding places behind fat lids, his
ears achieved astonishment. His mas
ter had returned at early hours on
previous occasions accompanied by
merry friends, but they had never
chosen as their happy, matin song, the
"Wedding March from Lohengrin.”
What could it mean?
Going to the window he craned out.
trying to see what was going on upon
the sidewalk, but the extending cor
nice underneath the window made this
quite impossible, although the touring
car beyond the curb was visible. This
lacked interest, so he hurried to the
outer hall, where he stood near the
elevator shaft and listened earnestly.
Presently, as the group succeeded in
getting up the three stairs leading
from the sidewalk into the ground floor
hall, he caught a word or two of thick,
congratulatory talk.
“ ’Sh’ou joy, ol’ man,” was the most
frequent of the crowding, earnest
words.
What could it mean?
As he heard the elevator door close
and the swift swish of the ascending
car, Rankin withdrew to the apart
ment, there to linger, waiting for his
master, consumed with carefully mas
tered curiosity.
Devoured with curiosity he stood
waiting as his master entered through
the outer door which he considerately
had left ajar for him. He had guessed
at certain details of his young employ
er’s probable condition and knew that
in the midst of just those details
Broadway was impatient of latch-keys,
bell-ringing or even knuckle-tapping on
the door.
The first thing he noted as the uur
steady Broadway entered was the fact
that his silk hat had been reversed up
on his head; the second was that
someone evidently had been sitting oh
his raglan cape while it had been
rolled rather carelessly; the third was
that his face wore an expression of re
lief and peace with all the world.
Not so unsteadily that he failed en
tirely to reach the goal Jackson tacked
across the room and found the win
dow. Ills friendly escort was still evi
dently in his mind, for from the open
window he now waved a genial hand
kerchief, whispering meanwhile
“Night-night,” as if the hearty spirit
which induced the words would take
them to the sidewalk ten score feet be
low.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
to his insane father. In neither case,
however, was there a deposition as
now in Bavaria, as both the periods of
regency were so short. Long before
the official declaration of his infirmity,
Frederick William’s fantastical senti
mentality had amounted almost to in
sanity.
In Excuse.
Matilda, maid of all work, had re
ceived a letter from a friend whom
she greatly admired for her intellect
ual attainments. With glowing pride
she placed the epistle in the hands of
her young mistress, a very clever
high school girl, and, as the latter in
dulgently perused the ungrammatical
but copperplate effusion, she kept up
a running comment.
“She's a marvel!" exclaimed the lit
tle maid, with conviction, fiercely
blacking the kitchen stove. “I dunno
that I know a better edicated yount,
lidy—except you, miss.”
“A remarkably well-written letter,
Matilda. But tel! me, why does your
friend always put a small ‘i’ for the
personal pronoun ‘l?’ ”
“I’ll tell you, miss,” she cried. “Win
-1 nie is very hard-worked. She must
have been in a 'urry. When she 'as
plenty o' time she puts a capita’ iot
i ter to every word!”
In Winter
Pe-ru-na
■ -'2 " T ' - '
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“So you live on Long Island. Aw
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"Oh, no. You see, we live on the
Sound.”
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Tame.
“What do you think of football?”
“Oh, it’s rather tame,” replied the
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“Was your joy ride a success?”
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A woman knows her new hat isn’t
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Worms expelled promptly from the human
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Good intentions should have asbes
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The small tumbler is responsible
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