Evening Star Newspaper, December 14, 1930, Page 100

e e e TH® SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, DECEMBER 14, 1930. A Big Night For Caesar By M adelime Kohler ‘His Pretty Mother Kept Him in Short Trousers to Conceal Her Own Age, but He Earned a New Suit. Tllustrated by Gladys Parker. HE bus lurched to a stop at the corner of Fifth avenue and Fo:ty-second street and the pretty blonde woman leaned over and casually kissed her son’s freckled ear. “Mother,” protested Caesar Updegraff, 3¢‘i. ducking his head shamefacedly, “I wish you'd remember I'm not a baby.” “All right, darling. Run along and meect your little friend. And tell M'. Mellish I did the best I could.” “Pwelve hundred bucks! I should think so0,” muttered the boy as he marched toward the spiral stairway. . Mona Updegraff beamed with pride as the lpindly form of young Caesar, the back of his ears still ignominiously :ed, reappeared upon the sidewalk and started up the steps of the Public Library. She settled back comfortably in her seat, arranging with an expert hand the folds of her modish Autumn ensemble. She liked to present a picture both correct and charming and in this instance she had succeeded ad- mirably. Delightful to have a son of 16 and not look a day over 25! Caesar Updegraff, 3d, vaulting up the library steps, almost collided with a large man in a tweed suit who gaped after the departing bus. The stranger's appearance was elusively familiar, but Caesar did not stop to analyze that now. He continued on his way, frowning, and stopped abruptly in the sliadow of the right- hand lion gua:ding the portals. “Hello,” he said to the stocky youth waiting there. “Kiss me, my love,” snickered Bum Nichcls. “Shut up,” ordered Caesar. “I was kissed because it's my birthday anniversary. Bring the gun?” “You bet, and I hope nobody notices I took §t. T’ll be your bodyguard.” “Mr. Mellish wanted $1,500, but $1,200 was all that mother could do. The hotel man eashed the check. I wonder why Mr. Mellish always wants cash.” “Because he's a big op'rator, I suppose,” vaguely. THEY sprawled on & bench beside the lion, Caesar’s long legs in their short knickers thrust out on the flagging in front of him. The tweed-clad man, who had turned about and was regarding Caesar with interest and even excitement, followed them and sat, un- obt usively, on the end of the bench. Bum scratched an ear reflectively. “Elise wants us to be sure to come to her party to- night.” “Not going to Elise’s party.” “They're going to have three kinds of ice cream and pineapple sherbet. Be yourself, fella I thought Elise was your girl.” “She was,” coldly. “But not any mocre. No girl can high-hat me.” “What do you mean high-hat?” “Well, Elise has a cutting way about her sometimes. For instance, when I called to take her to the schoo! dance I had on my new suit, and she said, ‘Where is the fairway?’” “Well, gosh, I don't see why a fellow of your size and age can’t wear man's pants. Haven't you got any long pants?” =TI “If you have.” scornfully, “I've never seen ‘em. You always wear those belted suits with a lot of gadgets on them that look as if they came out of a kiddie shop.” Caesar bowed his head. Bitterness, even as wormwood and gall, showed in the gesture, “You don’t know mother,” he said. The man in the tweed suit gave a sort of ingiown chuckle and, surprisingly, seemed about to speak. However, he subsided under the boys’ combined stare and began to whistle instead. “Your mother’s ruining your life,” said Bum solemnly, “and just so she can look young. When it comes to losing Elise’s affections and passing up not just two kinds of ice cream, but three kinds of ice cream and pineapple sherbet, I call that—" “When mother marries Mr. Mellish,” said Caesar, “maybe I can have long trousers.” There was a stifled exclamation from: the end of the bench and both boys looked curiously toward the man in the tweed suit, but he turned toward them a look of bland innocence. As the bus lurched to a stop the pretty blond woman leaned over and casually kissed her son’s fretkled ear. “Mother,” protested Caesar Updegrqfl 11, “I wish you'd remember P'in not ¢ baby!” They overtook the little man in the center of the darkened shrub- bery. “Come across,” hissed Bum. “Honest?” said Bum in a lowered voice. “Are they engaged?” “Not exactly,” replied Caesar, “but he pinches her on the arm and calls her ‘dear little woman.'” “My Godfrey,” said Bum, “what’s the matter with that bird on the end of the bench?” “Got a cough:ng fit, I guess. Mother said she would have married long ago, only her heart is embalmed in the past.” “Oh, the man’'s your father?” “No,” said Caesar, “it was something that happened after she was a widow.” He hesi- tated, swallowed. “She calls this bimbo the blonde Viking.” “Rats!” said Bum disgustedly. “There aren't any Vikings except in the movies. I think Mr, Mellish is a great guy. And he's a big op'rator. He must be to be investing all that money for your mother.” “I guess so,” said Caesar without enthusism. “Well, let's get going. Mr. Mellish goes to Chi- cago tonight on a big deal.” They arose. “Hold! Not so fast!” cried the man in the tweed suit. “You can't walk out on me like this. Who was that lady on the bus?” There was a thundering silence. Caesar, blinking down at the man, struggled again with the impression of having seen him before, but it was hazy. “That was my mother, Mrs. Updegraff,” he said stifty. “Do you know her?” “Hand decorated, kalsomined and frescoed, and a blonde, by cricky!” muttered the man under his breath, ‘but as beautiful as ever.” Aloud *he said, “Well, yes—and no. The name is familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the face.” “Yeh?” sald Bum defiantly. “Wheusare you?" The man laughed—a pleasant, hearty laugh. “Just a yokel lawyer from the sticks. George Nelson is the name.” “Um—Gecrge Nelson,” said Caesar in aston- ishment. “Why, I remember you. You were mother's lawyer back home befoie we came to the city.” ‘“I knew you when you used to wear little velvet suits with lace collars.” “Not so long ago,” muttered Caesar. “And I knew Mona,” with a dry chuckle. “when she had eyebrows.” “MOfI‘HER. often speaks of you,” said Caesar. “And goes right on not taking my advice about her investments, I see. Hands her money over to this arm-pincher. And where have you got all this negotiable kale, young fellow?" “In my coat pocket,” 1eplied Caesar. “It's in a wallet.” “Ah, in this pccket? You should have man- sized pockets, my lad. That's rather a close fit. Come on, I'll walk over to the subway with you.” At the subway they parted. “Tell your mother,” said Mr. Nelson genially, “that I'll be around to see her. Tell her,” he added impres- sively, “the bald Viking still has no mate.” There were no available seats on the train— not even avadlable straps—so the two boys clung drunkenly % the center pole of the swaying car. “Don’t push me,” said Caesar, sharply and impatiently, glaring at a portly little man in a :rlnkled suit who persistently bobbed up against im. “Room for us all, buddy,” wheezed the man, stepping heavily on Caesar’s toes. “Can you tell me the time, buddy?” Caesar looked disgruntled, but clinging to the pole finally managed to get his watch out. “Seven-thirty,” he said curtly. It was not until five minutes later, when the subway door was just closing on the portly gen- tleman’s bulk, that Caesar clapped a convulsive hand on his coat pocket and felt a suspicious flatness. He stared wildly through the doorway after the man. “I've been robbed,” he called to Bum. “Quick! Follow that man!” i Together they dashed to the door, hurried out onto the platform and streaked along it te its farther end, where the portly little mam could be seen rapidly going up the steps. “Don’t lose sight of him,” panted Caesar. But the little man was already out of sight when they reached the top of the steps and ram out onto the street, which was dark and de=- serted. A large house with a lawn and shrubbery im front of it stood at the corner of the street, and as they strained their eyes in that direction & darker spot seemed to be moving furtively across the lawn. Bum, with his hand held stifly in his pocket, dashed ahead and Caesar followed. They overtook the little man in the center of the darkened lawn. “Come across with that wallet,” hissed Bum, sticking the gun into the little man’s ribs, “and don't try any funny stufr!” “Don't shoot! Oh, don't shoot!” whispered the man in terror, fumbling in his pocket. Bum reached in and secured the wallet, and the two boys backed away. They turned and ran out onto the sireet, and were soon in the subway again. “Whew!” re- marked Bum, “that was close. It was a good thing I had the gun.” Caesar regarded his friend uneasily. The color was slowly returning to his face. “Would you—er—would you have shot it, Bum?” “Oh, no,” cheerfully, “It isn't loaded.” After some delay, Mr. Herman Mellish opened the door of his suite in the Hotel St. Charles an infinitesimal erack and peered out into the hallway. Then he swung it wider. “Come in, boys.” he cried heartily. “I had about given you up.” . R. MELLISH was an alert handsome young man of 30, with a sharp profile, varnished hair, and a smal! clipped dark mustache. He was dressed for traveling; his bags and boxes, a considerable number of them, neatly strapped and in readiness for traveling, - were ranged about him on the floor. : Bum thrust the wallet into Caesar's hand, and the boy took it and opened it casually. Suddenly his jaw dropped in consternation, Visibly the ruddy color swept out of his cheeks, “Oh, my heavens!” he gasped. “This isn't our wallet!” “What!"” said Bum. “What! What! said Mr. Mellisb He smiled unpleasantly and squashed out his cigarette. “What —onsense is this? idn't you bring the money?” “We had it,” said Caesar miserably, “but— but this isn’t it.” He finge.ed the bills in his nerveless hand. “There's about $900 here, but is isn't ours. The wallets looked alike on the outside, but the inside is different. There are more compartments and the bills are smaller.” Both boys began explaining at once, vole ubly and with many gestures. Mr, Mellish lis~ tened impatiently, now and then glancing at his watch. “All right, all right,” he said finally. “I'll have to get along with the 900, I suppose. But I assure you these picayune transactions——" Caesar stared. “But, Mr. Mellish, we can’ give you the 900. It isn't ours. We practically robbed that man of his money.” “ ‘Practically’ is a good word,” sneered Mr, Mellish. “If your story is true you held him up and took it at the point of a gun.” Caesar gulped. “Yes, we did,” he admitted, looking at his shoes. Bum shuddered. Mr. Mellish turned suave. “Well, boys, % can’'t be helped. Just a little mix-up on your part, and well meant—well meant. Now, you just give me the meney you have there and I Continued on Eleventh Page