The Washington herald., 1920-10-05


monthly dance, a dress affair In
which the members took great
pride and bestirred themselves
huskil Ito further and adorn.,
At o'clock the President. Kid
Mullaly. paced upon the fioor wish
a lady on his arm. As tho Lore
ieys was her hair golden. Her
yes was softened to a yah" but
It's quality OF assent was patent. to
the most Milesian ears. She step
ped upon her own train and blush
ed, and-she smiled into the eyes
Of Kid Mullaly.
And then, as the two stood In
the middle of the waxed floor, the
thing happened to prevent which
many lamps are burning nightly
In many studios and libraries.
Gut from the circle of specta
tors 1.-the hall ieaped Fate in a
green silk. skirt under the nom
de guerre of Liz" Her eyes were
hard and blacker than Jet. She
did not scream or waver. Most
uhwomanly, she cried out one
oath-the Kids own fayorite
oath-and in his own deep voice
and then while the Small Hours
Social Club went frantically TO
pieces she made good her boast
10 Tommy, the waiter-niade good
as far as the length of her knife
blade and the strength of her arm
permitted.
And next came the primal in
stinct of f-preservation--or
was it standardization, the in
stinct that society has grated on
the natural branch?
LIZ ran out and down the street
swift and true as woodcock fly
ing through a grove of saplings
at dusk.
And then followed the big city's
biggest shame, its most ancient
and rotten surviving canker, its
pollution and disgrace, its blight
and perversion. its forever infamy
and guilt. fostercd, unreproved
AND cherished, handed down from
long-agO century of the basest
barbarity-the Hue and Cry. No
where but in the big cities does II
survive, and here most of all
where the ultimate perfection. OF
culture, citizenship and alleged
superiority joins, bawling, in the
chase.
They pursued--a shrieking mob
of fathers. mothers, lovers and
Notwithstanding, yelling, call
ing. whistling. crying for blood
Well may the wolf in the big city
stand outside the door. Well may
his heart, the gentler, falter al
the siege.
Knowing her way, and hungry
for her surcease. she darted down
the familiar ways until at last her
feet struck the dull solidity of the
rotting pier. And then il was but
a few more painting steps-and
good mother East River took Liz
to her bosom. soothed her mud
dily but quickly, and settled in five
minutes the problem that keeps
lights burning o nights in thou
sands of pastorates and colleges
It's mighty funny what kind OF
dreams one. has sometimes. Poets
call them visions. but a vision is
only a dream-in blank verse.
dreamed the rest of this story.
] thought / was in the next
world. ] don't know how ! got
there; / suppose ! had been riding
on the Ninth avenue elevated or
taking patent medicine or trying
to pull Jim Jcffries's nose. or do
ing some such little injudicious
stunt. But, anyhow, there ! was
and there was a great crowd OF
US outside the courtroom where
the judgments were going on. And
every now and then a very beauti-
full and imposing court officer
angel would come outside the
door and call another case.
While was considering my
own worldly sins and wondering
whether there would be any use
of my trying to prove an alibi by
claiming that ! lived in New Jer'
sey. the bailiff angel came to the
door and sang out:
Case No. 9sS52743."
Up stepped a plain-clothes mar
there were lots of EN- there
dressed exactly like preachers anC
hustling us spirits around JUS
like the cops do on earth-and BY
the arm he dragged-whom. DE-
you think: Why, Liz!
The court officer took herinsidt
and closed the door. l went up tc
Mr.. Fly-Cop and inquired about
the case.
"A very sad one" says he, lay
ing the points of his manicureC
fingers together AN utterly in
corrigible girl. I am Special Ter
restrial Officer, the Reverend
Jones. The case was assigned tt
me The girl murdered her fianct
and committed suicide. She haC
no defense. My ~report to the
court relates the facts in detail
all of which are substantiated b!
reliable witnesses. The wages o
sin is death. Praise the Lord"
The court officer opened the
door and stepped out.
Poor girl" said Special Ter
restrial Officer the Reverend Jone!
with a tear in his eye. 1T wa:
one of the saddest cases that
ever met with. Of course she
was
Discharged" said the court of
fiCer. Come here, Jonssy. FRS
thing you know you'll be switched
to the pot-pie- squad. How woult
you like to be on the nissionar!
force in the South Sea Islands
hey? Now. you quit making thest
false arrests, or you'll be trans
ferred-see? The guilty part!
you've got to look for in this cas-,
is a red-haired. unshaven, untid!
man, sitting by the window read
ing. in his stocking feet. while hi.
children play in the streets. Ge
4 move on you"
Now. wasn't that a silly dream
Copyright. 1870, by Wheeler syndicstc.)