Boy's Cinema (1930-31)

Every Tuesday 'cm I"tn dead—or anytiiitic let 'cui loose on irie !" But don't At Bay. THAT night, at Molly's Lome in Brooklyn, Cookie was the life and soul of the reunion eelcbration. Nobody dreamed that he had been seorned and rejected at the "Herald" office. Larrj- thought ho wa, wonder- fid ; Mike decided that he had never seen him in a nioro jovial mood. But after it was all over, he went out of the house with Mike, walked with that promoted policeman till their ways parted—and was swallowed up bv the city. Week.? passed by—workless, hopeless «eeks for Cookie. No one seemed will- ing to provide employment for a one- eyed soldier returned from the battle- field, and no one ever knew how he lived in those weeks of growing despair. But one evening he was loitering in the doorway of a cinema, watching more fortunate people enter the building, when a familiar voice hailed him. "Hi, Cookie, you old son of a gun!'' It was Mike—Mike in a lounge suit, a big tweed overcoat, and a soft felt hat. It was a chilly evening, and Cookie was feeling none too comfortable in a very shabby suit, minus its waist- coat : but ho returned the greeting cheerfully enough. "Hallo, ."iweetheart !" ho said, nnd they shook hands. "Where have you been hiding?" de- manded Mike. "ISd been trying to get hold of you." "I've never met a cop yet who could find anybody he was looking for," said Cookie' lightlv. "How are your flat feet?" "rino!- "Where's the harness?" "My night ofTl" ■' Mike had arranged to meet Molly at this particular cinema, and Molly at this moment arrived, caught sight of them standing there, and darted forward, crying: '• Cookie I" Cookie, his hand still held by Mike, swung round with almost a disinaved expression. "Hallo, Molly!" he said. 'I Jiaven't seen you for weeks and weeks," she re- proached him. "Why, you've been neglecting me shame- fully." "Yes," chimed in Mike. "I thought we were going to stick together tho same as we did o\er there." "Well," lied Cookie, "I've ln'cn pretty busy." "It's great to see you," de- clared Molly. "Just like old times ! Mike and I are going to the movies—now we can all go together." "Yeah," said Miko with sur- prising eagerness for him. "I'll get another ticket." But Cookie shook his head, released his hands, and thrust them deep into liis pockets. "I'm afraid I can't go to- night," ho told them. "I've got a date with a fellow. Some other time." "Oh. come along!"' urged Molly. "Break your appointment." chimed in Mike. "No, no, I can't do that. I'll ring \ou up soon. I've got to run along now. Good- BOY'S CINEMA bye." And he turned and left them. But Mike wasn't going to let him go like that. With a hurried word to Molly he ran after him, grabbed him by the arm. "Cookie I" he insisted. "Wait a minute—I want to have a talk with you." "No, officer," said Cookie facetiously, removing the detaining hand, "I don't want to buy any tickets for the police- man's ball !" "Listen!" insisted JNIiko earnestly. "Have you any money ?" "How much do you want?" "Now. now, quit the stalling—you know what I mean. You're liaving a hard time getting located, and I've got a few dollars that aren't doing me any good." If Cooki.^ was move! by this offer of lielp, ho did not show it. "Listen, sweetheart." he retorted, "if you've got a few bucks saved up, you'd better hang on to them. It-costs money to get married these days." "Who said anything about getting married?" growled Mike. Cookie looked round and saw that a motor-bus was a|)proaching. "Here fomes my bus." he said. "So long. Romeo I" And with that he shot otf into the roadway and jumped on to th;> step of the vehicle. "Bull-headed sap!" exclaimed ^like. " I know he's uroke !"' As a matter of fact, Cookie was so broke that he hadn't even a penny for a bus fare, and he remained on the step only long enough to turn a corner, then dropped off and slouched north- wards. That day he had had nothing to oat; next morninc: he had no breakfast. An empty warehouse on tho river-front had provided him with a free night's lodg- ing of sorts. He felt as he looked—an outcast with a black patch o\ cr liis left eye. .And being a strong man, he began to nurse an active resentment against the world that didn't Avant him. Round about midday, determined to get something to eat, he wandered into one of the numerous down-town estab- lishments in Now York City where one nuiy help oneself to bread and siiusagc and cheese, provided one buys tea. coffee, or soft drinks. The bar was a long one, well equipped for customers, and a number of men were eating and drinking there. Cookie went vip to tho bar and helped himself liberally to bread and to liver sausage. Tho bar-tender, who was serving a more profitable customer, saw whai he \\as doing, sized him up at a glance, and shouted : "Hi. Cluck, take your snout out of that trough '." "Go and lay an egg!" retorted Cookie calmly with liis mouth full, and reached over for more sausage. "You heard me!" snapped the bar- tender, bearing down on him. " Wliiit's wrong?" demanded Cookie. "This is some of that free lunch I've heard so nuieh about, isn't it?'' "That's for the customers, not for tho panhandlers 1" And the bar-tender snatched away the sausage. "How did yo" get in here?" "On my feet!" "Well, if you want to go out 'he same wav, vou'd better start moving. Beat it!" "When I got good and ready," ?«ud Cookie quietly. "And don't inierruiu me when I'm eating, either." He whipped up a huge Bologna sausage and iace with struck the newcomer viciously in the it. July 18th, 193U