Sunday , February 2nd, 1919
"Golden Eyes" and Her Hero "Bill" Over There
Number Fourteen
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All good faery-tales have a Prince and a Princess, and a faithful Comrade, and Love, and Adventure, and War, and terrible Barriers that rear themselves between the Prince and the Princess, and a Wedding with bride-roses and white slippers—and nobody ever dies in a good faery0tale, or doesn’t get what they want—except the wicked Ogre in the tale. So this tale, too! On a bright, crisp day in Sunny France Golden-Eyes and Bill got what they wanted—one another. The Ogre—War—was dead. The cannon that was their alter spoke again in a voice of thunder—after months of silence—and its tongue of fire licked again its grey muzzle lifted to a quiet sky. Bill’s company band blared out a stirring, silvery cataract of music—the “Gone Away” of a bride and groom! Love was there. The sun, golden and splendid like pale champagne—was there. Bill’s boys were there—their swords a glittering trellis overhead—bright points striking fire as they touched in the sun. Bill’s hair was a polished black-bird’s wing—its curl tormented flat—and his eyes were gay blue fire. Golden-Eyes didn’t mean to be a bride but ONCE! So she spent her heart out on the misty froth and silver of bride-white— “a REGULAR bride, by gosh!” breathed one of Bill’s dough-boys in reverent admiration—and she carried roses with shell pink and gold hearts that matched her cheeks and eyes.

And “Uncle Sam” —with his heart “good as bread” –their pal with the eyes liquid brown, in the glitter—glitter of his collar emblazoned with the story of his deeds, washed clean that day by Bill’s brown hands until his cont of sable and silver took the air like feathers, “Uncle Same” was the best man!

Everybody knows that a true collie never curls his tail over his back like a doughnut—in his greatest joy he whips it—but straight it is, out behind him, in “thoroughbred” restraint. And the dog-pal of Golden-Eyes and Bill—was an aristocrat!

Witness the pride and joy and ecstasy bursting his heart— that he could forget— this once—and carry his tail high like a flag—above the level of his back!

“Gone Away’ flared the trumpets!—and Bill’s spurred heel jingled on the sep of the cab behind his bride— “Uncle Sam,” smiling a-tip-toe, clambered in—the door crashed to—and Bill’s deserted dough-boys each touched a breast pocket and thought of their own girls. Back HOME!


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All Images from the San Francisco Academy of Comic Art Collection
Bill Blackbeard -Director
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