Nogales international., 1932-09-24
NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY,

'eMr. Gilbert is coming back to
town and is bringing Mr.. Breen,"
Jules announced to Josephine, in bed
with her toast and coffee.
John had been at the Van Horn
home for ten days. He looked remark
ably we'll. His lounge suit, from Van
Horns tailor, fitted him as clothes had
never fitted him before.
"You can pay me back when you get
out on the job" Van Horn arranged
the matter easily. John Breen, appar-
emily without an effort or a thought
about the matter, slipped into the mood
of his new environment. He was per-
fectly natural, natural in a way men
are natural and simple behind the bar
of a Bowery saloon. John, without
knowing it, practiced the ultimate in
correct behavior he was completely at
his ease, az he saw no reason to be
otherwise.
Josephine, after John evidenced no
awkward signs of stage fright, and
seemed endowed with an inherent
genticness, went to remarkable lengths
in the process of his further educa-
ton. He held her naturally, skillfully,
and picked UP the latest dance steps
with astonishing facility. She took him
to the exclusive Desdemona Dances at
the St. Botoiph. John was accepted
everywhere through the introduction
of Van Horn.
Johns period of rest had come to a
close. His last day had been strangely
quiet. His nerves were no longer on
edge, but in the depth of his being he
felt sinking sensation of loss. OF
course John Breen was more than
merely interested in Josephine.
Returning from Pagliacci alone
with Josephine one evening the car
joited as they swung across Forty
second Street, and Josephine uttered
a startled "Oh" as they skidded on
the slippery street when brought to
a sudden stop behind a jam, a bus
having blocked the crazy, unregulated
traffic just as it started moving swiftly
northward. Josephine was thrown
against John. His arm steadied her.
Her long glove was off he caught her
hand as the car stopped. She rested
against him, her cloak open at the
throat, her bare shoulder beneath his
eyes, in the pale light from the arc
lamps across the avenue. Neither
spoke. Their breathing was intense.
An impulse held them, the wild melody
of the moment before seemed to re-
vertebrate through their minds. The
scent Of her hair, the compelling thrill
of contact, swayed them on a crest Of
emotion. John pressed her to him with
sudden rudcness, kissing her. jose
phine, her eyes closed, did more than
Just receive the imprint of his lips.
The car slid to stop before the house
in the middle Ffties. They sat bolt
upright. Both were wiser than before.
Back in the dorrlitory John ar
ranged his work in methodical way,
looked through his books as if coming
back to old friends, flied his favorite
pipe from his dry tobacco in the hurni-
dor, looked out of the window over
the roofs Of Harlem, looked at himself
in the mirror and smiled. We'll, after
all, he had a great prize ahead Of him
in the mighty City of New York. On
his chiffonier was the likeness of
Josephine: in decoilete and with a
rose in her hair. Visitors to his room
would glance at it approvingly. Ma
lone and Harboard were there.
"a kick goes further than kiss.
when you're arguin' with jackass."
Malone swung a polished boot, one leg
over the study table in Johns room.
Harboard was in the big chair by the
window and John sat on the couch.
"That kid there needed kick, an you
give it to him, good an hard" They
were holding a post tnortem over
Johns breakdown, and his almost ini~
mediate recovery. The city bad simply