Omaha daily bee., 1921-07-03


- who, blinking a little, came in. Mr.. Hali-
day was in evening dress; he seemed to be vast
ly surprised. So was Bill; 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
tery; that what had betrayed him. That he
had forgotten to lock his door didn't matter.
bad 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 harshy. 1t sur
prsed Bill good deal that it should be his
father. rather than his mother who had come
to deal with him. He very little of his
father and didn't know him well; that man OF
great affairs had little time for his son.
whats ths?" said Mr.. Halliday. He
picked up the papercovered book Bill had been
reading "Hello!" he said. and stared down at
the boy. more surprised than ever "Spaldings
Football Guide?" Swift suspicion came into
his eyes, "Got another book under the covers?
Nick Carter--er-"-Hism memory failed.
mo- sr!" said Bill II was just reading
about the teams at home father! Yale had
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 vel mean-that
they do here. do they?"
~ IT believe not" said Mr.. Halliday. "Its a
different sort Of game BILL"
ut must be- There aren't but IL on team.
instead of 15--like soccer that is. Soccers 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
uncertainty at his son.
"Father-let me keep that book, please?
won't read any more tonight, If you WILL
promise. But it's not mine"
Mr. Halliday dropped the book at once.
where did you get it, Bill?"
'Ted Little lent 1t to me-
who's he?"
''He was new boy last term. He's from
Chicago, father. He's going home next sum-
mer. He's going to Princeton. Father"
"Well?"
.when are we going homer We've been
over here an awful long time. haven't we?"
Why-I don't know, BILL Mr.. Halliday
said slowly. you've been here most OF your
life, haven't you? I have 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 Lawrencevlle 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
better education here. She's talked to me about
sending you to Oxford. good many of the
boys at school going there, aren't they?"
"But they're English, father And I'm
American" ..--....-
.'Well we'll have to see" said Mr.. Halliday.
again. ''Weve settled down here, you see. Bin.
And it's where we came from, in the beginning.
There have always been Hallidays near Swayth-
ling, ever since the time Of William the Con-
aueror."
IT don't care' said Bill "And-I don't be-
heve you do either. father Weren't there
Haldays in Washington's army, too?"
'You bet!" said Mr.. Halliday, before he
thought "Its pretty late, Bill. Your mothern
be looking for me If don't put out your light
Good night, boy. We'll talk about these things
some other time" .r
"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
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-
planned. About Giants, and Cubs, and White
Sox and Tigers.
1t was a long time before Bill slept that
night, even though the light was out. and he
kent his word about reading any more. He
wanted to go horne. He had wanted that for
long time, but lately, since Ted Little and Jim
Murray who lived in New York, had disputed
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-quarter on the second fifteen
year earlier Ied naQ amazed every oHe 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. 1t was
all in the way you placed your fingers against
>ukhe ball; Ted had shown him, and explained
that in base ball the pitcher could make the
ball do what he pleased.
He was homesick-as desperately homesicR
as only q 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 homo were vague. fragmentary. Trains
running on q high platform; a tall tower. in the
center of a city. with the huge statue of man
in 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 surrepttiously His mother had not
approved of American stories But he had spent
long hours in his fathers library. There was
dull reading those shelves for boy, you
might have thought But Bill would have chal-
lenged you fercely on that score. He knew John
Fiske's American Revolution" almost by heart
before he was 12 Hays 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 mdlands where his school was;
glowing autumns, when the woods and hills
were painted in thousand colors; days and
nights of mischievous delight
His mother, when he asked her, innocenty,
about this and that, was appalled,: she had TAX