Evening Star Newspaper, February 8, 1925, Page 70

4 EREFORE judgment it is the of the court in compliance with the law that you be con- fined in the State’s prison at Greenbow for a perfod of five years” A woman screamed. buzzed. Police Officer O'Malley scored again! No more would the historic con- fines of Tar Flat resound to the tur- bulent clamor of battle, the tinkle of broken glass and the Saturday night slogan of Danny the Dude: “Follow me, boys, and you'll see action Gone was the glory of the Tar Flat gang, smashed by the brilliant sin- gle-handed campaign of a cop from Xillarn Danny was going up to join his defeated pals. Tar Flat had Ss=khy & Tartar in James Patrick GMalley. Deliberately they had set out to get him; and instead, their scalps now adorned his belt, and their bruised ears still rang to the roar of Erin go Bragh! Dahny the Dude had boasted that he would beat the case. Him go up! Not a chance! But this was one time when public opinion offset the dis- trict’s political pressure. Nor did the presence of Danny’s wife and baby avail him anything. Danny the Dude, slim torially elegant, bade a nonchalant rewell to his famlly and sauntered m the courtroom in the custody of a deputy jailer. On the way out he brushed should with the arrest- ing officer, and for the space a socond looked deep into the latter's oyes. “T'll—see—you—Ilater!” said Danny, and there was no mistaking what lay behind the promise Officer O'Malley answered quietly: Fine, my bog—TI'll be right on my beat waiting for you.” Thus was born the seed of future reckoning. Young Danny marched off, determined by good behavior to cut down considerably the time in which Police Officer O'Malley had yet to live. As for the latter, he hitched t his belt, patted his gun and cuffs, nd strolled back to the station, eager now to maintain his reputation as an arresting officer. O'Malley was a harness bull if there ever was one! Heavy of hand and foot. slow of thought, and very red of face, he considered that day lost whose low descending sun saw man imprisoned and no battle 44 The courtroom had and sar- APT. COLLIN ndly, gray-hair- ed veteran of the central station, was not so sure that the community had been blessed by the acquisition of Patrolman O'Malley. “The breaking up of the Tar Flat zang was a feather in Jim's bonnet,” “dmitted Capt. Collins, “but now the lad wants an Indian headdress. Sergeant, how many men did he bring in yesterday?’ ““Twas bargain day,” said Sergeant Patterson. “He found a Chink lot- tery on his beat and grabbed 44. He was displeased because three got away.” Tomorrow it will be something else,” sighed the captain. “Since we zave him a day heat, he goes to bed with a copy of the city ordinances, and he knows ‘em all from the time they ruled the first cow oft the street. Give him time and he'll have half the city behind bars. You see what pub- licity does to a young cop!” Captain Collins was right. It is a bad thing for a patrolman to see his name in the papers too frequently, or to be held long in a district where he is called upon to use his stick and 'cuffs to any great extent. Even a discreet officer, and the de- partments are full of them, has a hard enough time making friends. The poor patrolman is always be- tween the slippery curb and the chasm. If he enforces the ordinances as they are written, he is a pest; if he doesn't, he is a grafter. To retain both prestige and popularity, he must mbine the qualities of Solomon, Chesterfield and Sherlock Holmes. O'Malley was far from being dis- creet. He did his duty as he saw it, but he saw it too frequently for his own good. Honest, sober, con- scientious, he was none the less an irritating influence in the community, the type of man who can do more harm than good to the department. “To call that man a peace officer, sighed his superior, “4s to make sad misuse of the English language.” Nine times he hauled upon the carpet for being overzealous in the performance of his duty. “Listen to me, you big ma ia Capt. Collins. “If justice is supposed to be blind, a cop can afford to be nearsighted when the occasion re- quires. You've got too much blood in your head, and your fists are too big. Will you turn in your star now, or must I break you?” O'Malley's heavy shoulders drooped, and dumb helplessness was written in his blue eves. He shifted from one DIg foot to the other, unable to say a word in his own defense. Capt. Colllns’ eyes wandered to a printed motto on the wall. the Christ- mas sermon of Robert Louis Steven- son. He unpinned the card and out to O'Malley. “I'l give you one more chance, Jim. Read that, and see if you can get it through your thick head. 'Tis my conception of an officer’s code. The next time you open vour police manual, consider that card page one. O'Malley @eparted for his beat. He made the journey by street car, hunched in a corner, hands gripping Capt. Colling' present, and his lips mumbling the message, “To be honest, to be kind; to earn a little, to spend a little less * * ¢ to make on the whole a family happier for my pres- ence.” held it EN are not usually cured by the mere reading of sermons. By all the rules of logic, the Central Station would have lost a good man and this story would never have been written, had it not been for Miss Sadie Smith, who had just as much courage as Officer O'Malley and a great deal more sens: Sadie was a product of Tar Flat, which only goes to show that the law of compensation is a wonderful thing. Bright and blonde as a canary, and not much larger, Sadie was principal of the Hillside Park grammar school and the kindergarten that adjoined it, having qualified for the job by successfully rearing five little brothers and sisters without the aid of the police. But Sadie wanted police protection now, and what she wanted she usually got. Fifteen minutes after Miss Smith swept into the Central Station, armed with facts and figures and resolutions from mothers' clubs, Capt. Collins agreed to do the im- possible. 11 give you one, Sadie,” said he, At for no other reason than that I used to dandle you on my knee once; but where am I going to find him? We've got one-third of the force on traffic duty now, and the council won't increase the budget. Crime grows—the city grows—everything grows but police salaries.” “Don’t fool yourself,” said Miss Smith. “I'm intrusted with the train- ing of 600 future citizens, and I'm pald no better than the cop on the beat.” ‘Shake,” said Capt. Collins. “We represent the two most responsible professions in the commonwealth, and the twa reorewt paid. Now show me on the map just where you want a aan stationed, and he'll be there in e mornin; Sadie stuck a glass-headed pin 39t in 3he center of Hillside Park ‘Doulevard, where cross-streets and traction line® branched out-like the | careful points of a police star. A small park was on one side, the school a half block distant on the other. In between, owing to the peculiar curve of park and streets, there were six corners on which children could gather for the dash across. “Good night!” sald Capt. Collins. “Whoever gets that post will have to put mirrors on his ears. Even then, he'll get cock-eved. How many chiléren did you say there were?” “Six hundred,” sald Sadle, “and none of them are older than 12— some are as young as five. They come streaming in from all directions in the morning, at the very hour when people are hurrying to work In their machines. Most of them go home at noon, return to school, and then are dismissed at various hours In the afternoon. That means four cross- ings for each child. And if the children are late, 'they're running, and they don’t look—" Enough!” pleaded Capt. Collins. “'Tis my idea of a fine job for a man whe's looking for trouble. Sergeant, who have we got on the discipline list that needs soft-boiling? I want one of these brave club-swingin' buckos who-—who—oh, walt a minute! Never mind, sergeant; I've got just the man. That glass-headed pin is Officer James Patrick O'Malley, and may heaven have mercy on his soul! He'll be there at 8 o'clock in the morning, Miss Smith.” Sadie smiled her thanks. “I think (t would be wise for him to come up to the assembly room at 10 o'clock and make a short speech to the chil- dren at that hour. That way they'll know him, and he can impress upon them the importance of obeying sig- nals. Capt. Collins eves twinkled. “A speech?” said he. “You want him to get up and talk to 600 children? Oh, fine! I'd give my back teeth to be a kid again in your classroom Good-bye, Miss Smith; I'm glad you call The little teacher went out the door, and Sergt. Patterson grinned at his superior. “Jim will turn in his badge on next pay day,” he predicted. Capt. Collins looked at the vacant spot on the wall where once an em- bossed card had hung. ‘You're wromg,” said he. “Big flsts and little hands go well together, and Sadie Smith's kids will be the making of O'Malley.” * %" 0 timid tyro mounting the rostrum to recite “Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight” had anything on Police Officer O'Malley as he faced the 600 voungsters and heard Miss Sadie Smith say at his elbow: “Now, chil- dren, this is the good, kind police officer who has been detailed to take care of you at the crossing; he is going to suy @ few words to you on the sub- ject of safety. and I want you all to listen very carefully.” She smiled encouragingly at the speaker, who bowed, cleared his throat, and ran a huge finger around his wilted collar. He had stayed up half the night preparing for this moment, but now he could not recall a line of what he had written. “Ladies and gentlemen—," he stammered. “I mean, boys and girls! It gives me great pleasure to appear before you, and—and—" He half turned toward teacher. “What—what'll I say whispered. “Tell them who you are” she prompted. realizing when all else fails a man can usually talk about himself. ‘m James Patrick O'Malley,” he announced, “Officer Four Hundred and Forty-four.” He would probably have given his age and physical measurements, but at that moment his panic-stricken eyes were caught and held by a little girl in the front row who smiled up at him with such friendly encouragement that it was as though she were saying aloud: “Don't be scared, Jimmy friend.” The solemn lines on O'Malley’s face melted. He smiled at the little girl His smile grew wider. So did hers. She tittered, and the titter spread over the room, swelling into a gale of delighted laughter that was led heartily by an officer of the law and ably seconded by a young school principal. The ice was broken for- ever. “Say, listen,” said O'Malley, as the nearer children crowded around him —with the single exception of the lttle girl in the front row. She still smiled at him, but she made no move to arise. “My name is Jim, and I'm you friend. Let's all be good kids, and love our teacher, and be very in crossing the street. How ‘bout it? Are you with me? The wails rang with their answer. * the girl he HAT was the way Officer Jim came into his inheritance, a trust that broadened and deepened as the days went by, until it was the talk of the whole neighborhood. Digni- fied business men would pass up street car after street car, just for the pleasure of standing on a corner and watching a blue-coated shepherd at his morning devotions. He seldom crossed the street without ten children hanging to either arm, and a dozen more clinging to his coat talls and trampling all the polish off his shoes. They clustered on the six corners waiting for him to suspend traffic from first one direction and then the other. At his cheery cry, “Here y' ar accompanied by a beckoning hand, they left the safety of the curb and headed for their protector as fast as they could leg it. His cus- tomary procedure was to stand in the center of the boulevard until he had collected a full consignment from three corners; then he headed for the other shore, entirely surrounded by chattering youngsters. Not always did they obey his sig- nals promptly. Sometimes a tiny lass in pinafore, more timid than the others, would turn back aftershe “NOW SHOW ME ON THE MAP I'm your s !kl‘,pt her seat, THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, The Making of O'Malley = = HE SELDOM CROSSED THE STREET WITHOUT TEN CHILDREN HANGING TO EITHER ARM AND A DOZEN CLINGING TO HIS COAT-TAILS. had_got halfway, and then tie up traffic while she stood on the curb and tried to make up her mind whether it was safe to go or not. About the time that Officer Jim would decide to wave the traffic on, the small lady at the curb would take it into her head to go. He was always in hot water, and not infre- quently his anguished roar could be distinguished for threee blocks. “Whoa! Whoa! All right, come ahead; Well, then go back! Come on, everybody! No, no! Not you! Stand where you are! Stop! Go ahead! Whoa! Whoa! Holy mack- erel! There was really not much danger, for most motorists knew that cross- ing by now and approached it cau- tiously. Even so, Officer Jim, with the perspiration beading his fore- head, fluttered back and forth with all the anxiety of a clucking hen. By this time he really considered himself the daddy of the district, and not without cause. Mothers brought their little ones as far as the boule- vard and introduced them to the guardian of the crossing with the solemn injunction: “Now if I'm late in calling for you this afternoon, don’t you dare leave Officer Jim until 1 come.” Then they went downtown to do their shopping, and were nearly al- ways late in getting back, so that he found frequently as many as 20 voungsters parked with him long after he was supposed to be off duty. Very small ones, going to school for the first time, were presented by oider brothers and sisters “Jim, this is my kid sister Ethel Shake hands with Jim, sis. And this kid is Billy Dugan's brother. He just got over the measles. Him and me walk home together. His name's Tommy. That's his dag.” * ok kX F course he had his favorite. Uni- formed monarchs always do. Her name was Margie, and she was the same little Miss Sunshine whose en- couraging smile had restored his composure on that opening day in school. He knew now why she had while all the others were standing. Margie was on crutches. The last remnant of roughness was squeezed from his huge bulk by this crippled youngster who weighed scarcely 60 pounds. She alone could not take his hand in crossing, be- cause of her crutches, but whenever he beheld her at the curb, he brought the whole world to a standstill and hurried forward. They made a picture that every one loved to watch; golden-haired Margie, swinging gayly to school on crutches, and big Jim O'Malley tip- toeing awkwardly behind her with both arms widestretched in a pro- tecting shield. When they had crossed to safety, there was always a momentary pause, while he held her crutches and she put both arms around his neck in a childish em- brace. £ That morning commendation in- spired Officer O'Malley. He made bold to seek the aid of Dr. Commer- ford, a distinguished surgeon who lived in the nelghborhood, and who had both a skilled hand and a very big heart. “The poor little thing,” he explained, “tells me it's something wrong in her kneecaps. She had a fall. Her mother is away workin’, and her father's dead, I guess, be- cause she says he's gone to the North Pole. Her aunt takes care of her. I don't think they have any money, but I could lay 50 a month aside—"" “Ob, you could, could you?” eaid Dr. Commerford. “Well,” go ahead and do it. Put it in the bank, and don’t let me or anybody else take it away from you. Where does your little friend live?* Not long afterward surgical genius triumphed. ~ Margie discarded her crutches and began to walk unaided. Complete recovery came gradually, of course, but eventually she was able to beat all the others in a race for Officer Jim and to spring like a cat into his arms with a happy shriek of “Catch me, Jimmy His cup of oy was almost complete. He would not have traded his job for that of ‘Capt. Collins, nor even that of the chief. The voungsters showed him their report cards each month, and those that had fallen from grace and failed to win promotion were loud in their insistence that he arrest their teacher. Some of them offered him ecandy and then demanded: “What's the capital of Cleveland? “Hey, Jim, where was Lincoln born? “Is this the way you make a capital H?" Because his 6wn education had been sadly neglected and he desired to re- STATIONED,AND HELL BE THERE IN THE MORNING.” tain the respect of those that were learning fast, he showed up at the school and made his plea to Miss die Smith. “I'm ashamed to go to a night 001,” he confessed, “but If you could spare me 20 minutes at your convenience, Miss Smith, ‘twould be a great favor and I'll be glad to make it worth your while.” So Miss Smith gained another pupil. Tho matden mother and the bachelor daddy of 600 children confronted each other in a private classroom every afternoon. Officer Jim struggled man- fully with the problems of algebra; Sadie got chalk all over her nos and the winged god of love s=at in far corner, heels on a desk, chuckling as he watched them. O'Malley’s romance deepened in two directions. In the evenings he now went out with Miss Smith. In the daytime Margle claimed him for her own. Ie learned why little Miss Sun- shine was so glad she could run and why she was so anxious to save all her report cards that had ‘‘excellent’ written upon them. “It's for my real daddy.” she ex- plained. “When he comes back from the North Pole, I'm going to run to meet him, and show him all my cards.” “That's a fine idea,” he told her, “but you musn't be too disappointed if your daddy doesn't come home right away, darlin’. The North Pole's 2 long way off, you know.” “I know,” she nodded soberly. “But auntle says Santa Claus is going surely to bring him when I'm seven years old, and I'm almost six now.” She screwed up her face and lovked at him with an expression that seemed oddly familiar, but just why he could not tell. “Well,” he sighed, “let's hope Santa Claus won't forget. In the meantime, remember that Jim loves you, and if there’s anything your little heart wants, just come to m: e ATER it occurred to him that her father might be alive after all, for Margie insisted that he was coming back, and that her mother wouldn't then have to work any more, “We're going to have our own home. Jimmy, and I'm going to invite yvou to dinner the first thing. You see if I don't.” Then one afternoon she hurried up to him, her cheeks aglow with eager- ness. lee, Jim,” she cried, “here's daddy’s picture. I took it off auntle’s dresser just to show you." He was sitting down at the time, which was just as well, since the pic- ture that was thrust so eagerly into his hands proved to be a cheap post- card portrait of young Danny the Dude. The blood drained from O'Malley’s face. So, the North pole was Greenbow. And he himself was responsible for little Margie's long . He wondered what the little one would say if she kne His mind reverted to the Christmas ser- mon, folded In the fivleaf of his police manual, and to one line in par- ticular: “To make on the whole happier for my presence.” “You did the right thing, darlin’, in showing me daddy's picture. The North Pole ain't as far away as I thought, and who knows but what the police department might have a little influence with Santa Clau That night Officer O'Malley called on various public officials, including Superior Judge Humphrey, District Attorney Taylor and Capt. Collins. “Jim,” said his superior, “I'm not much in favor of paroling a man that's sent up for gun play. The habit is hard to break. But I know the little girl you speak of, and I think you're right in sayin’ she'll do Danny as much good as Greenbow. Anyway, they're pretty crowded up there. When are you goin' to get married? “Me?” a family said Jim, crimson. ‘Me?" Capt. Collins laughed. “Do you think I got all these stripes on my arm for bein’ blind? I held Sadie on my knee, and I knew her 20 vears ago, and I'll do it again if you don't look out. Go on with you now, and conduct yourself as becomes a cour- ageous man,” A, e UNE came. Margie scampered up with the unbellevable news that her father was coming home the next morning. Her radiancy well repaid Officer Jim for all his efforts. “Well, well, well,” he commented, “that's fine. You want to be extra cautious now, crossing the street. T've taken care of you this long— you musn't let anything happen to you at the last minute. Take my hand, darlin’, and we'll cross together.” Margie was excused a half-hour earlier the next morning that she could hurry home to meet her father. Fate, which operates in ways that are beyond all human understanding, saw to it that a coal oil stove ex- ploded in a house on upper Hiliside. Far down the boulevard a shrill siren began its wail, and Officer O'Malley, strolling toward his noon- day post, quickened his pace. When he reached the cross-stregt, he saw Margie starting toward him from the opposite corner. He held up a warn- ing hand, but she mistook it for a friendly greeting, and ignoring the siren, sprang forward to meet him. At the same instant Battalion Chief Powell's car swept into sight, travel- ing 50 miles an hour. Powell had every reason to expect a clear street at that time of day. Instead a little girl fluttered in his path, saw her danger, and instead of standing still, turned first one way and then the other. 3 Brakes shrieked on a swerving car. There was a wild yell from the driver, and Officer O'Malley left the curb in a headlong leap. Streak of red, flash of blue—bump—and on! Careening on two wheels, the fire- car missed a telegraph pole by inches, mounted the sidewalk, regained the street and came jerkily to a stop. Chief Powell looked back. A bare- turning a dull D. ¢, FEBRUARY 8, 1995_PART 5. headed cop, covered with dust and with his right coat sleeve torn off, had regained his feet, and in his arms he held the limp figure of Danny's daughter. “All right!” bellowed Officer Jim. “Go on! She's just fainted—you didn’t touch her!” “Thank heaven'" said Chief Powell. “Well, that's one cigar I owe big Jim! Margie had been shocked into a swoon. Her house was not far away, and O'Mally walked there, but he had no recollection of it afterward. The terrific fall had stunned him. He felt no pain at all from a fractured collar- bone. He had but one blind instinct— to get this child to her home, and then to go to his own cottage and lie down. Ho did not even remember turning little Miss Sunshine over to her mother, nor of starting to de- scend the narrow stairs that led to the strect. But what happened im- mediately thereafter penetrated his torpor. Half way down the stairs he came across his handcuffs where they had fallen from his pocket, and he bent to pick them up. The effort told on him, and for a moment he drooped against the wall, half crouched in the shadow, with the steel bracelets in his hands and his heavy features contorted with pain. This was the picture presented to young Danny the Dude as he ran up the steps of his home expecting to greet his wife and child. The door was unlatched and he pushed stralght In! The two men looked into each other's eyes, and they were as close as they had been that day in the court- room when the threat was uttered and answered. To young Danny, chastened and hopeful, but fresh from Greenbow, Officer O'Malley's presence meant but one thing. The handcuffs confirmed it! They weren't going to let him even see his family. 'His release was a frame-up. Red madness engulfed him. “You dirty hound.” he shrieked, and leaped parehanded for O'Malley's throat. The big man went down un- ByGerald Beaumont £ der the attack. The police gun slipped from his holster and fell within reach of a slim hand. Bang! * ¥ * MOMENT later Danny the Dude fled down the front steps. After him reeled an officer, blood streaming from a wound in the shoulder, and calling desperately as he went: “Danny—Danny—don’t run. It's all right, I tell you. Danny, come back here But the fugitive fled on. O'Malley halled a passing machine. He gave his address and fell into the back of the car. That night Inspector Foley and two plainciothes men, having heard part of the story and halfway suspecting the rest, stood at O'Malley’s bedside and tried unsuccessfully to werm the truth from him. “You say,” questioned the inspec- tor, “that as you, were coming down the stairs, your gun fell out and ex- ploded. Is that it, Jim “Yes,” confirmed O'Malley. “It's only a flesh wound. I'll be all right in a few days.” “I believe that part of it id Foley. “But I'd like you to tell me how the top of your shoulder is all powder burned if the shot was fired as vou say?’ O'Malley remained silent. “And you couldn’t by any possible chance tell us who belongs to this soft black hat we found on the stair- case? Nor who it was that ran out of the house just ahead of you?' O'Malley shook his head. ‘That's all,” sald the inspector. “Let's go, boys! My mind's working better than Jim's.” e 'HE next morning a police car drew up at O'Malley’s humble domicile. Capt. Collins was in the front seat, and In the rear, handcuffed to In- spector Foley, sat Danny the Dude. Old Mother O'Malley ushered them into the sick room. The injured officer tried to flash a message to the prisoner, but it was of no avail. Danny drew back with a snarl. “Aw, what's the use of this foolin’ around. Sure T plugged him, and I'm sorry I didn’t bump him “So you admit you shot him,” Capt. Collins. “Well,” my lad, you know what, that means, don’t you? *Twill be more like 40 years now in- stead of four’ You might at least bave given your little girl a kiss first.” Danny the Dude fell into a chair, buried his face in manacled hands, and sobbed out his version of the shooting of O'Malley. Bitter curses punctuated the recital. “There he was, layin’ for me with the ‘cuffs in his hand! Wasn't even going to let me upstairs to see my kid—my kid! I tell you I was goin’ straight. I was —I was! He waited for me just as he said he would. Waited right in my house with the 'cuffs, and my kid upstairs. ¢'Malley propped himself up. ““Twas because of your lftee girl" saidl he, “that I was there. The ’guffs fell out of my pocket and I was picking them up.” “You lie!” raved Danny the Dude. “What license have you got to be thinkin’ about my kid? Yeu dirty—" “fielp me up, Dboys!" pleaded O'Malley. “I'll bust him right in the nose—'" Capt. Collins raised his hand. “Shut up, both of you! Il tell the story now as it ought to be told. As my old woman used to £ay, ‘Anybody can see through a door after somebody bores a hole in it’" The gray-haired apostle of the cen- tral station was not an orator. He spoke as one man to another. The story was long in the telling, for Capt. Collins omitted little and sup- plied much that O'Malley had thought was a secret of his own. “So, you see,” concluded the cap- tain, “to sum it all up, ‘police pro- tection’ is a pretty broad term. This harness bull that you took such pleasure in wingin' is the one who made it possible for your little girl to walk, who guarded her from all harm while you were away and who headed the petition for your parole. If you hadn't found him In your home, bruised and out of his head, it would have been because you'd have later found your baby stretched out under a sheet at the city morgue.” e i HROUGH most of the recital Danny the Dude had listened with tight lips and challenging eves, but gradually the hard lines had softened, incredulity had been replaced by amazement, and now his youthful features twitched with the reaction. He looked up at Collins. “I was brought up to hate cops said Danny, “but if you ain’t lyin’ I'll get down on my knees and kiss all the polish off that guy's shoes!” “Faith,” chuckled the captain, “T'd hate to have that sentence passed on me. Jim's got the biggest shoes in the department. Now, let's see— " Mother O'Malley appeared in the doorway “Parade!” she called. “Parade, an’ it's comin’ this way! All the kids in the world and a brass band! Hear it said They all heard it then—the Hillside Park School Band, trying its best to master the mysteries of the official police anthem, “Fearless and True.” Capt. Collins went to the front win- dow. A battalion of schoel children 600 strong, was coming up the street carrying school colors and American flags. At their head marched Miss Sadie Smith, holding by the hand the daughter of Danny the Dude. The parade came to a stop outside the O'Malley residence. A youthful yvell leader waved his arms. The response rang throughout the neighborhoo “Rah—rah—rah! Officer Jim! O'Ma under the bedclothes, whence came a muffled voice: “For the love o’ Pete! They ain't comin’ in here, are they? You talk to them, captain! Tell 'em I'm much obliged.” Capt. Collins returned from the window. “Better take the 'cuffs off 's crimson face disappeared | The Story of a Hard-Boiled Cop and His Conquerors vour man, inspector. His little girl is comin’ in with the teacher. Danny, vou wanted evidence, did you? Well, stand back in that corner and you'll get it He prodded the shrouded figuro that represented O'Malley. “Stick your head out, you big turtlel Quick, now—both your girls ars comin’ jn here with candy and flowers.” He spoke just in time. O'Malley looked up to see Danny's small daugh- ter standing in the doorway, her arms filled with flowers. Margle, made timid by ths presence of stran- gers, hesitated a moment. Then she saw the welcoming light in blue eyes and forgot the carefully prepared speech. Danny's daughter dropped to her knees by O'Malley’s bed. The flowers fell unheeded to the floor. Small arms went around his neck. “Thank you for saving me, Officer Jim, and I hope you're not hurt bad, and—and—* Her voice wavered and the hot tears of childish grief de- scended. “Oh, J-Jimmy,” she sobbed, he came and I missed him! Mammu says he's gone back to the North P-Pole, and now I'll have to wait all over again. It wasn't any use s-sav- ing me at all” She sobbed bitterly. “There, there!” comforted O'Mallsy. “Your mother might be mistaken, darlin’.” He looked up at Capt. Col- lins, and the latter, with a wave of one hand, relegated all authority to his subordinate. O'Malley patted the head of his favorite. “Kiss big Jim,” he whispered, “and I'll tell you some grand news. He came down to see his little girl and he lost his way, » he had to come to us. All people w are lost do that, you know. He's in this room, darlin’. Dry your eyes< now, and see if you can pick him out They wanted me to identify him, but somehow I couldn’t seem to do it.” A e ARGIE dldn’t have much trouble, for as she turned around younsg Danny the Dude crumpled to his knees and held out his arms. “Take him home, sweetheart,” sald Capt. Collins, “and see that he don't los; hi way again. Inspector, I guess you and I might as well be goin.” They paused a moment on the porch to acknowledge the cheers of the children. “Look at that, will you!” eaid Capt Collins. “There’s the finest testim nial ever given an officer in the his- tory of the department. We'll hava no trouble with that crop of citizens.” Sadle appeared in the doorway, her eyes moist and her lips trembling. “Where do you think you'rs goin’ said the head of the tral statio: “We came out on the porch to glve you and Jim a chance.” The pink deepened in Miss Smith's chee . "“I—I've got to march the children back to the yard befors L can dismiss them.” “Me and the inspector will do that” said the captain. “Go on back and give a deserving officer the decora- tion that's comin’ to him."” “Orders are orders, turning back Capt. Collins descended the stairs and consulted with the leader of ths band. “Do you know the wedding march? Well, you better learn it! | All right, kids, fall in! About face! quads right! Forward, march! . everybody! Shoulders \bauk Eyes straight ahea Ah, | that's fine! Watch your step! Hay foot, straw foot, beily full of bean soup. Hay foot The band played “Freedom For- ever,” and down the street marched Sadie Smith’s kids, four abreast, and led by two veteran upholders of the {law. = Capt. Collins' head moved jauntily to the beat of tha drums {and his countenance was serene. He rightly guessed that in the cottags |on the hill a blushing young school | teacher was at that moment applying the finishing touches to the making of O'Malley! (Copyright, 1925.) aid Sadie, Visitors Who Have Eyes That See When Viewing Lincoln Memorial BY LUCRETIA E. HEMINGTON. N'the words of a Spanish proverb he who would bring home the wealth of the Indies must car- ry the wealth of the Indies with him. Certain it is that one never travels, never goes sight-see- ing, without the force of that truth coming home to him, applicable either to himself or to others. In traveling, if one would bring home knowledge concerning the places he is to visit, he must carry knowledge with him, else he will be like that tourist who, going through the country of Shakespeare by coach, and having a stile pointed out as the one over which William carried the deer, asked, innocently enough, “What William"? Lincoln stated that he was ever greatly concerned that people did not clearly understand the meaning of words. Their inaccuracy as to word content and their hazy impressions of things observed was a source of real distress to him. In the practice of law, this mental turbidity had been only too frequently met with by the great statesman. Consequently, he labored always to say accurately and simply what he expressed. in order that those who read his thoughts or listened to them might, with nice precision, grasp his ideas. Lincoln was not only concerned with this carelessness in reading and in observation, but he was burdened with it. He would have agreed whole- heartedly with the head of the de- partment of expression in one of the jarge universities in the Midwest, who declared recently that the ma- jority never receive from the printed Page the exact meaning of the writer, {and, in addition, attributed the major part of all failures in school and col- lege to this inability to understand clearly what one reads and sees. Since science is dedicated to truth, to pellucid understanding of laws and phenomena, how fitting it is that the National Academy of Sciences, whose charter was signed by Abraham Lin- coln, should stand in close proximity to the temple that enshrines his spirit! Before going to his memorial; one should stand beneath the dome of the academy and read that master- plece of wisdom from Aeschylus’ “Prometheus Bound,” that, like an in- terpretation, reveals the purpose of science, of exact research in the fleld of truth. Beneath the mural that so colorfully ‘depicts Prometheus light- ing his torch (fire is the symbol of knowledge) at the chariot of the sun-god runs these word “Hearken to the miserles that be- set mankind. They were witless erst and I made them to have sense and be endowed with reason. Though they had eyes to see, they saw in vain; they had ears, but heard not, but like to shapes in dreams throughout their length of days without purpose they wrought all things in con- fuslon. They had no sign either of Winter or of flowery Spring or of fruitful Summer whereon they. could depend, but in everything they wrought without judgment, until such time as I taught them to dis- cern the risings of the stars and their settings, aye, and numbers, too, chiefest of sclences, ‘I invented for them, and the combining of letters, areative mother of the muses’ arts, / THE LATE PRESIDENT HARDING DELIVERT ADDRESS OF A CEPTANCE AT THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL. CHIEF JUSTICE TAFT, AT RIGHT, DELIVERED THE PRESENTATION ADDRESS. (Photo by 21st Century Press.) wherewith to hold all things in memory. 'Twas I and none else that contrived the mariner's flax-winged car to roam the sea. If ever man fell {11, there was no defense, but for lack of medicine they wasted away until I showed them how to mix soothing remedies wherewith they now ward off all their disorders. Hear the sum of the whole matter, every art possessed by man comes from Prometheus.” * ok kK ‘HOUGH they had eves to see, they saw In vain—that was the re- iterated plaint of Lincoln always. With that fragment of a masterpiece for a tallsman, one may pass down the marble steps, over the graveled paths, past the shallow pools, to_the wide-sweeping grounds of the Lin- coln Memorial to approach it in a spirit of reverence and understand- ing, for its perfected symmetry comes like white beauty to meet one across the endless fields of green, beneath the limitless vault of flax-bloom blue. It is maj It is the no- blest to man in all of country ly- ing between the Atlantic and the Pacific. But strange as it may seem, even its incomparable beauty is powerless to convey its influence unless the pilgrim approach it with a reverent and understanding heart. What does the visitor carry to the shrine? What does he know of Lincoln, the man and his achievement? What does he know of the symbolism of art? What Is he willing to learn? How keenly can he observe what is written in style of architecture, in palm branch, in fasces, in eagle, in the capitals of the columns, in the mystic, magic nuances of the mu- rals whose symbols portray the prin- ciples of the great Lincoln? What questions is he willing to ask? What patience and concentration will he give to the replies made by the well informed custodian and guards? It is so much easier to say reaching hom have seen the Lin- coln Memorial,” or “I went to the me- morial” than it is to formulate a clear impression of what one has re- celved while there. The writer will never forget the upon depth of the disappointment that came from a letter written in India by a world traveler who said bar- renly: “I have seen the Taj Mahal'— the Taj Mahal, than which there nothing lovelier carved in marble, than which there is nothing so ex qGuisitely commemorative of romance and_immemorial love. He had seen the Taj Mahal! Every one goes to the Taj Mahal, he went, that he might say inanely that he had seen it Did none of its aching, haunting beauty, its ageless memory and changeless lovalty mean anything to him? One could sit at home and read a masterly description of that inim table creation in marble, and thrill to its unforgetable perfection, though 10,000 miles separated him from that minareted dream that lift€ itself Into the golden moonlight in Agra on an Indian night. Though they had eves to see, they saw in vain It will be recalled that while the Lincoln Memorial was not quite reads to be opened to the public, passes were granted by the director of publia buildings and grounds to those who probably would not he in the city after the dedication and formal open- ing. Toward the close of this period, 1t became most difficult to secure a pass, and often it was secured only through the intervention of some person influence, the pass then becoming a sort of special privilege. . During this time, a well-to-do man from the Middle West tried assidu ously to obtain the much-coveted slip of paper, but failed until an fnfluen- tial friend telephoned the office in charge in behalf of this visitor from the region of the Mississippi. Armed with his hard-won pass, he was per- mitted to go through the gate in th. high wooden fence that barred all from entering into the temple. A certain_ exultation in special privilege made his feet almost run up the white cascade of steps to the shrine. The custodian followed mors 1slowly, for his, too, Is a spectal privi- lege, the privilege to study humanity at close range under the white, searching, all-revealing light of = great man's life. His is a position of duty and service. He never mocks. He patiently, in true courtesy, aids where he can, and where he can ren- der no help he can be silent and ob- serving, wondering in his heart how some things can be. * %k %k ¥k THE gentleman from the midiand country walked alone into that vast chamber, where sits the lonely figure of the great Lincoln. He gave \# hasty glance at the statue, walded quickly iInto the alcoves whers the glorious murals speak the language of the principles of the great states- man, and scarcely glanced at the masterpieces of inspired writing thac are the inscriptions beneath the mural bands. If there had been others in the temple it is auite likelv that this man would not have felt so alone with his own soul. Suddenly he heard a whistle blow, and he hurried up to the custodian and asked for an explanation of that sound. He was all animation, eager-eyed and expectant.. Upon belng informed that « slow steamer on the Potomac had whistled for the opening of the draw in | the bridge, he asked whether he could | T (Continued on Sixth Page.) )