“IS EVERYBODY HAPPY.”

Stratford Evening Post, Issue 36, 14 April 1930, Page 3

“IS EVERYBODY HAPPY.”

By ELEANORE CAREY.

tWi ■ INSTALMENT X. "fnt give them something that ■wiff tfailte them up— don’t worry,” safd Te'd an he and hi s orchestra topic (heir places on the platform. He amUied down at Gail, who sat at i comer table, with eyes that gita»* intently at him. She was eager and happy, and Ishe felt much aflK a< satisfied mother must %e! when- she witnesses the success of her off spring after a period of trial ami straggle.

, Orchestra began to play its “Hottest” mrraber —and the time arrived v/Tieu Ted came to the center'd' the platform to do his isolo. Wfteri ' hfc canfe to this position, he wdtf ih a direct ifae of vision with hia' parent’s table. Mrs Molnar glanced at him absent-mindedly until • Barrenly it dawned npon her consciousness that the hat and the cape the youngster wore was a very familiar sight. Could it be? Nff, that waj» ■ unthinkable, but quickly she looked again to make this time—his features iurt&l full in their direction, was The shock nearly made her eolfitise, ferit she managed to recover herself before Mr Molnar ssrtir (fee* change that had come over he"? face. “liet’s leave, mother, this i|s terrible. f cannot stand it.” "But wait, lather!” her trembling llpa could hardly form the words “Wait until you have had your 'drink/* ‘ She must signal Ted that they were there—she must hear her son until the end. In a way the attention - of the audience thrilled her. It made her proud to think Tecf could hold that large assemblage Of people.- If only father w-Otrfd ' not look tip and recognise him. That would be adding insult to’frijufjt. " tie would never get over tbit' I sfeO’Clif—to find his son in a cafe pTaYiiig jazz-muisic! By moving fier head, or playing with her she v, r as able to cover Ted — that is Mr Molnar was reading a newspaper, which he held before, him. Ho looked extremely bored anti evCn irritated at it, and made awvmove to lock in the direction of the tflatfom. Then Ted began to sing! Mr Moftfcr r*i(§ed Ms eyes to his wife and ’sh# saW there, .despite the bittertidAs, an utter futility—as If his lifd fiad’ -goriC' for naught. There waSf h question iri them, too. Whose voicC that? Was it Ted’s? It sounded mightily like it and come to think of it he had heard Ted whistle that tune while he was shaving just the other day. Strange coincidence! With an effort he slowly- turned his eyes toward the platfontf. The turning was painful, ate if he dreaded to see what the flfatform held. Then he saw his sbw or th'e platform going througfr liilsanC antics, blowing on ond of those 1 "red-hot” saxophones ancUderi 1 fending his voice to the ahafe’dfdTimeiit of the rhythm. Shades of gftfeat 1 ’ Masters, arid they called thifi( music! And his son participating in that noise. His jpon, trie fioy he’d coached and trained -*V the art of real music? Yes, there h© wajs—and at first the old man, went limp. Futile—that expreseed ,it-—all his long dreamed dream# of the boy’s ultimate career, when ever;/ country on the globe should know him for the peer of yiolfniets. WhCri hiS nanie should be r 6f? everyone's I'fps, and echoed and rd-edhoed around the world, and' ife, (6'6‘, should play for kings and eiriperors. And here he was -playing in a cheap cafe —making anaejs like a monkey and the laughing stock of all who witnessed it.

Suddenly he became enraged. He half-rose from his seat, but before he could make himself known, his wif& put out her hand and pulled bith back. He collapsed in his chair—utter resignation on his face. fedhad' been ignorant and obflMobP to bfs parent’s proximity. n 6 real idea they were thef#, affi# after he had finished his (sotfg artd ' dance he went quickly bacic to his coatroom where Gail stood waiting for him.

“fed, you were marvellous! Your new routine will make you and that hatl Why, it’s the greatest ‘prop’ f- ever B aaW!” the girl said as she looied admiringly into his eyes. Ted grasped her hand and smiled info he* eyes—“lt’s all your fault, jyo*ljp MOW They listened with tc the applause thundering outside' for an encore, and Ted said, Gall, that’s the sort of music I should always have been playffig, I can feel it—it gets

Copyright 1929 Warner Bros. Pictures, Inc. This novel is based on the Warner Bros. & Vitaphone production.

under my skin. 1 get lost in it—forget where I am. Why I—I—I”

The boy looked casually at the door feeling for words to express the depth of his emotion and glanced directly into the eyes of hiis father, with his mother behind the old gentleman. “Father!” he gasped. The old man was shaking with rage. “Don’t call me father!” lie commanded, "YDu have disgraced me—destroyed all my hopes for you —torn down everything. I have spent my life building up-—yon—” “But, father!” came from Ted’s' white lips. "There was nothing else I could do—l couldn’t find work, anywhere else!”

“Couldn’t find work anywhere man! I’d rather sec you working in a ditch! I’d rather see you cleaning streets! I’d rather see you doing anything in the world than playing this vile jazz-music.” The applause continued (outside and instead of pleasing Ted’s father it had the effect of oil poured over a flame. "But, father, you’re wrong! You're wrong! There is a soul to this music—and I’ve never been so happy a’s I have been since I found it. It’s new—and strong and revolutionary. It’s America —it’s— 1 —” The old man’s wrath reached the seething point and as he turned to walk away he almost screamed. “Stop—stop this ’crazy* 'talk!”’ Then suddenly an idea came to him, and he turned once more to his son and asked. "Where’s my violin — where is it?” i Ted wajs plainly taken aback. He was stupid and stammered. "Why—l—l/.” ' " The old man’s lips formed a straight line and he said in a low, almost menacing tone. "I know —oh, yes, I ’ know. You sold it! You won’t deny it—oh — no—you won’t because —just because you can’t deny it!” At this point Mrs Molnar, with tear!? in her eyes, advanced and said to her husband: “Come, come, father, please don’t make a scene;” He loockd at her son; he seemed broken and her heart went out in pity for him. He had tried so hard to make things easier—bringing all that food and joyfully paying the rent. Ted was her gentle little boy again, who having gotten into some childish mischief, crawled into his mother’s lap and putting one little sturdy arm around her neck —whispered: “I am so isorry, Mother, so awful sorry!” And now he w r as sorry. He had done the only thing he thought he could do —for them.

"Father!” Ted pleaded as the old man turned to go, “Father, please forgive me—wait ——” Mr Molnar stood erect and in a stentorian voice boomed: "You are no longer my son! There is nothing you can say,” and with that he went out of the door with a bitter determination never to see his son again, in his heart. “But, Mother, you understand —< don’t you?” Her expression, as she looked at her sou, was one 'of great sorrow and compassion, ghe opened her mouth to speak, but the father interrupted her with; , . , j "Don’t speak to him!” and clutching her hand he took her with him out of the building. The applause, never ceasing, was still heard from the dining room, and the manager opened the door. “You made a big hit, kid, get out there and give them some more. Can’t yon hear them?” “I can’t just now. Something rials happened,” and Ted tried to push by him to follow his departing parents.

Gail was on her feet in an instant, with her hand ou Ted’s arm; she felt iso sorry for him, arid, words were such poor mediums of expressing sympathy. Besides that, they did not help much. (To be continued.)