Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1955-02-01 Raymond F. Tisby MEMPHIS WORLD AMERICA'S STANDARD RACE JOURNAL The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO. Every TUESDAY and FRIDAY at 164 BEALE—Phone 8-4030 Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn., as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott General Manager Raymond F. Tisby Managing Editor Mrs. Rosa Brown Bracy Public Relations and Advertising William C. Weathers Circulation Promotion The MEMPHIS WORLD to an independent newspaper—non-sectarian and non-partisan, printing news unbiasedly and supporting those things it believes to be of interest to its readers and opposing those things against the interest of its readers. SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Year $5.00 — 6 Months $3.00 — 3 Months $1.50 (In Advance) Their Education Is In Your Hands, Will You Help Them? Education, once considered the privilege of the "talented tenth," is now generally conceded to be o privilege of any American youth regardless of race, color or national origin. Considering the vast public school system of America, ranging from dilapadated, dingy one room — all grades schools to modernistic education factories fresh from the architect's drawing board, the above statement would ring true. But is it? Only a hare's breath away in Desoto County, Mississippi some 19,000 Negroes are right now being denied access to a FREE, public school education above the high school level and are now holding their breath as their only, source of securing an education above the elementary stage is dangerously near the folding up period. The state of Mississippi maintains no high school for some 19,000 Negroes in Desoto County. The nearest state high school is located some 30 miles away in Senatobia to which the students must pay their own way. In Hernando, Miss., the county seat, the youths do have a chance for a high school education, thanks to the North Mississippi Educational Convention which in 1889 founded the Baptist Industrial Academy (see story this issue). A plea for help has gone out from the academy which has reached the bottom in finance. $5,000 is needed NOW to continue operation this year so that at least some of the 19,000 Desoto Negroes might receive a high school education. The educational future of these Mississippians depends to the Nth degree oh how YOU react to the school's plea. A dime or a dollar donated today will aid in educating to morrow's leaders. Their educational future is in YOUR hands. Won't you help? Donations may be sent to Baptist Industrial Academy, Hernando, Miss., or the Memphis World editorial office at 164 Beale, Memphis, Tenn., from where they will be sent to the school. And Who Was Gain? In Southern Michigan prison, which is just over Cooper St. hill from my office, are hundreds of men who bear the Mark of Cain. And who was Cain? The man whose crime is the first recorded in the Bible, the murder of his brother. But outside of that great prison — the largest in the world — are thousands upon thousands of others who share the guilt of Cain in a scarcely lesser sense. Because it was Cain who asked of the Lord in slurring sarcasm: "Am I my brother's keeper?" His obvious answer was, "No." And that is the answer of the thousands who turn their faces against others in a negative response to the question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" They not only turn against individuals but as well groups and races. They blanket all with the sins of the few in an arrogant intolerance. And they belong to no single class, sect or race. They say: "I was insulted by a Jew. I hate Jews." "I found a Methodist, who went to church on Sunday, violating his marriage pledge on Tuesday. Methodists are hypocrites." "I know those Catholics. I used to live next to a Catholic family. They never missed early mass, but they threw their rubbish in my backyard and their kids broke windows in my house. I want nothing to do with the Catholics." And so it goes among those who bear in a somewhat lesser degree the Mark of Cain — hatred of their brothers. It is only small men and small women who thus damn millions for the sins of the few. In the big prison, which is so near my desk, are Episcopalians, Catholics, Jews, Negroes, Methodists and Mennonites. Criminals all, But outside in this city, which is close to the prison, are fine, understanding friendly Episcopalians, Catholics, Jews, Negroes, Methodists and Mennonites. How can any man deny with Cain, his kinship and his responsibility for his brothers simply because some among every sect and race are evil? Living near a prison perhaps is helpful to an understanding" of the need for brotherhood. Many——too many——of the more than 6,000 convicts out in Blackman township are there because of hate and intolerance for the frailities of others. And many —— too many——might have been saved from imprisonment and someone at the right moment shown the spirit of brotherhood and accepted the responsibility of a positive response to the Scriptural question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" MY WEEKLY SERMON TEXT: "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, and having lost one doth not... go after that which is lost?"—Jude 15:14. A hundred sheep and only one lost. Why worry? It may seem an insignificant loss. you have ninety-nine left. If the man had only two sheep and one was lost, then we would consider his deep concern. It may seem as if the lost of one is lessened in its painfulness by the many that remain. A mother and father lose a child. We inre, "Have they, any children left?" We receive the reply. "yes, they have six left." we re ply, "Well, it isn't so great a loss as if they had only one child." We transfer this unsound reasoning into Our religious life. The parable of the one lost sheep is an opposite to our unsound reasoning into saying, "The loss of one is lessened by the many that remain." "If a man has a hundred sheep and loses one."... It is very tender and most' beautiful that Jesus compares His family to a flock, and that He pictures His lost children under the figure of lost sheep. A sheep does hot intend to go astray. Neither do we. The innocent sheep puts its head down to the grass and eats and eats, and follows on and on. And at last, looking up finds that it is lost from the flock. The lost sheep, was so busy eating, never taking time to look up, and at last discovers it is lost. We poor mortals become so absorbed in things of the world, we keep our heads down to making money and having fun. This absorb, all our energy and thought, and time. We never lookup to God. Unconsciously we wander far from the Good Shepherd, Jesus. We wander into moral and spiritual perdition and bang up against the gates of Hell. We stray from God and become lost in the regions of wild nights. "He goeth after that which is lost." But we are not left to our own deserts. "The Lord is mindful of His own." "The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost." How does the Good Shepherd seek us?" He makes the grass of distant pastures dissatisfying until we cry out, "I am sick of it all." Once we liked it. But "our drink is turned sour." The Good Shepherd, brought about the distaste. "And when he found it" frequently shepherds find their lost sheep exhausted tired out, exceedingly weary. And that is the way the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep. The devil has undermined our life and sapped away our strength. Our will power is weakened. Our power of resistance has gone. Sin is an awful subtractor and an awful exhauster. But listen to the sweet gospel, "When he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders." He carries us. Jesus the Good Shepherd knows that we are morally weak, yes impotent. He will never leave us... "even to hoary hairs will I carry you"... "He is willing to aid you: He will carry you through." ONE IS LOST TEXT: "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, and having lost one doth not... go after that which is lost?"—Jude 15:14. A hundred sheep and only one lost. Why worry? It may seem an insignificant loss. you have ninety-nine left. If the man had only two sheep and one was lost, then we would consider his deep concern. It may seem as if the lost of one is lessened in its painfulness by the many that remain. A mother and father lose a child. We inre, "Have they, any children left?" We receive the reply. "yes, they have six left." we re ply, "Well, it isn't so great a loss as if they had only one child." We transfer this unsound reasoning into Our religious life. The parable of the one lost sheep is an opposite to our unsound reasoning into saying, "The loss of one is lessened by the many that remain." "If a man has a hundred sheep and loses one."... It is very tender and most' beautiful that Jesus compares His family to a flock, and that He pictures His lost children under the figure of lost sheep. A sheep does hot intend to go astray. Neither do we. The innocent sheep puts its head down to the grass and eats and eats, and follows on and on. And at last, looking up finds that it is lost from the flock. The lost sheep, was so busy eating, never taking time to look up, and at last discovers it is lost. We poor mortals become so absorbed in things of the world, we keep our heads down to making money and having fun. This absorb, all our energy and thought, and time. We never lookup to God. Unconsciously we wander far from the Good Shepherd, Jesus. We wander into moral and spiritual perdition and bang up against the gates of Hell. We stray from God and become lost in the regions of wild nights. "He goeth after that which is lost." But we are not left to our own deserts. "The Lord is mindful of His own." "The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost." How does the Good Shepherd seek us?" He makes the grass of distant pastures dissatisfying until we cry out, "I am sick of it all." Once we liked it. But "our drink is turned sour." The Good Shepherd, brought about the distaste. "And when he found it" frequently shepherds find their lost sheep exhausted tired out, exceedingly weary. And that is the way the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep. The devil has undermined our life and sapped away our strength. Our will power is weakened. Our power of resistance has gone. Sin is an awful subtractor and an awful exhauster. But listen to the sweet gospel, "When he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders." He carries us. Jesus the Good Shepherd knows that we are morally weak, yes impotent. He will never leave us... "even to hoary hairs will I carry you"... "He is willing to aid you: He will carry you through." REVIEWING THE NEWS There is something about sports that brings the basic good out of the individual. This may be logical enough reason why America and the whole free world will forever be indebted to what has been achieved through athletics. So much for the goodness of the soul and for individual salvation has emerged from men and women getting together and matching skills on a fair and competitive basis. Sitting and watching athletes compete has been responsible for many ideas to be born in a free society. This might account for the dream of the One Hundred Per Cent Wrong Club, an idea born out of the feeling of young sports enthusiasts more than 20 years ago. Based on the true American heritage of fair play, the club lives today as a symbol of decency. My first account of this was revealed five years ago when in an humble way, I had to extend greetings to the men who attend the annual banquets. The picture was vivid and yet complex, because it represented so many interests and feelings: But those interests and feelings were significant. At each banquet there has been a strong manifestation of interest on the part of those who dedicate a large portion of their lives to the profession. The program of athletics in America has always been successful because the people who head it have always maintained a decent point of view. They could not be, otherwise and remain in the game. The feeling is significant because it reaches beyond bounds of prejudice and hate. In this respect, athletes have always been out far ahead of their contemporaries. This might account for what has taken place in the area of social gains. In this respect, the Church has lagged and fumbled the ball while the man on the gridiron, the youngster behind the bat and the lad in the boxing ring have held a more genuine point of view. At each banquet, where star athletes and coaches, travel from many parts of the country to pay homage to this great profession, I have sensed the feeling that such a gathering should be duplicated in every part of the world where men believe in freedom. This should not only be so in a physical, but also in a moral sense. If the spirit of men everywhere were indicative of those generated at the One Hundred Per Cent Wrong Club banquet held in Atlanta last week, there would be no need to fear, the atomic bomb or dread the bloodstains of war. For such a spirit would make it necessary that men, of the human family break bread together which can only be done without strife or hatred. Breaking Bread together There is something about sports that brings the basic good out of the individual. This may be logical enough reason why America and the whole free world will forever be indebted to what has been achieved through athletics. So much for the goodness of the soul and for individual salvation has emerged from men and women getting together and matching skills on a fair and competitive basis. Sitting and watching athletes compete has been responsible for many ideas to be born in a free society. This might account for the dream of the One Hundred Per Cent Wrong Club, an idea born out of the feeling of young sports enthusiasts more than 20 years ago. Based on the true American heritage of fair play, the club lives today as a symbol of decency. My first account of this was revealed five years ago when in an humble way, I had to extend greetings to the men who attend the annual banquets. The picture was vivid and yet complex, because it represented so many interests and feelings: But those interests and feelings were significant. At each banquet there has been a strong manifestation of interest on the part of those who dedicate a large portion of their lives to the profession. The program of athletics in America has always been successful because the people who head it have always maintained a decent point of view. They could not be, otherwise and remain in the game. The feeling is significant because it reaches beyond bounds of prejudice and hate. In this respect, athletes have always been out far ahead of their contemporaries. This might account for what has taken place in the area of social gains. In this respect, the Church has lagged and fumbled the ball while the man on the gridiron, the youngster behind the bat and the lad in the boxing ring have held a more genuine point of view. At each banquet, where star athletes and coaches, travel from many parts of the country to pay homage to this great profession, I have sensed the feeling that such a gathering should be duplicated in every part of the world where men believe in freedom. This should not only be so in a physical, but also in a moral sense. If the spirit of men everywhere were indicative of those generated at the One Hundred Per Cent Wrong Club banquet held in Atlanta last week, there would be no need to fear, the atomic bomb or dread the bloodstains of war. For such a spirit would make it necessary that men, of the human family break bread together which can only be done without strife or hatred. Religious Emphasis Week At Tenn. - Fisk - Meharry Convocations, retreat, and youth seminars have been scheduled for the 15 joint Religious Emphasis week program at Tennessee State. University, Fisk, University and Meharry Medical College February y9-23. "Challenging the Unexamined Life" is the theme around which the three-campus five-day series has been planned. "Faith for a Time Like This" and. "What Are We Standing For?" are subjects of special youth seminars which will be led by Rev. Robert P Johnson, pastor Fifteenth Street Presbyterian Church, Washington, D. C, and; Mrs. Raihel Taylor Milton, dean of Women of Fisk and Rev. Paul H. Moehlman, head of the Westminster Foundation, Nashville, respeitively. The opening activity will be a joint retreat to be held at the American Theological Seminary, Dr. James S. Thomas of the Meth onist General Board of Education, Nashville, will be retreat speaker. According to Rev. William J. Simmons, Tennessee State University's minister, who is general chairman of activities, other speakers will include: Father Shelton. BishOP, rector of St. Phillips Episcopal Church, New York City; Rev. Harry. B. Richardson, president of the Gammon Theological Seminary, Atlanta; Rev. J. Clinton Hoggard, secretary, AMEZ Board of Foreign Missions, Washington D. C.; and Dr. Carl H. Kopf, president. Federation of Churches, Washington D. C. M. H. Coleman, anatomy instructor at Meharry; and Rev. Wilson Q Welch, of Fisk University's School of Religion, are chairmen on their campuses. Howard U. Grad First Assistant To Probate Judge A 60-yearold Chicago, lawyer and, a graduate of Howard university's law school, last week became the first Negro in the history of the city to become assistant to the Probate court judge. Alva Bates, an attorney for 30 years, is a former assistant attorney general and assistant state's attorney. South Africa To Begin Shift Of 60,000 Natives The white, controlled South African government under Prime Minister Johannes Strijodom begins its mass shift of some 60,000 Johanesburg Negroes next month in an attempt to effect racial apartheid (separation). The government's action will be taken in the face of possible strike action. It would be greatest project yet undertaken to separate the races. The master plan calls for the flattening of the Negroes' homes by bulldozers as the occupants are moved to their new homes. The cleared ground would be converted into industrial sites for white investors. The South African National Con-gress (ANC), the most powerful Negro body opposing the mass shift, warned the government that the action would produces "an extremely dangerous and, explosive situation." This body, claiming a mass membership of nearly 100,000 vowed "to oppose the removal, at every Stage regardless of the consequences." However, their resistance plans are wrapped in secrecy. It is believed that if court appeals fail, they anticipate a sympathetic strike of Negro workers in Johannesburg, the industrial and commercial nerve center of the country. The Negroes are to be shifted from the western area of Johannesburg, where they have lived for some 50 years, to townships outside the city. The government proposes to withdraw the Negroes' right to own property and land outside of specially allotted areas. The first goal of the proposed protect would take an estimated four or five-years. The government sees this as a pilot project in an all-out, drive to completely separate in racial compartments two and a halt million whites eight million Bantu Negroes one million colored or mixed blood people, and 350,000 Asians. LAFF - A - DAY "No, Henry, THIS is me." The Taming of Carney Wilde Copyright 1954, by Bart Spicer Distributed by King Features Syndicate by BART SPICER I RAPPED lightly on the door and watched it swing open under my hand. I'd been in there before. Then I'd been suckered by an attractive red-herring. I'd been handed a suspicion and led carefully to accept a prepared solution. It was neat. Tidy and careful and just a little humorous, qualities of mind that fitted Doc Riggs perfectly. The bedroom was empty. The luggage was still there. The room was disarranged slightly, clearly occupied by a man who meant to return. I closed the door and walked slowly up to my room, trying to figure the beat move to make now. Doc Riggs was on board, expecting Stewart, But if he had seen a copy of the paper he knew the game was over. Now what? He hadn't packed anything, so he didn't plan to run. Somehow running wouldn't be in character for Doc. I got out my key, opened the door and went in. The night-time curtains were still drawn, but even so I could see that my bed was still unmade. Probably Russell couldn't keep maids working either, not on Masking Day. I hauled back one of the curtains and then I saw him, sitting erect in a chair facing me, one leg draped over the other, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other balanced on his knee, holding a blue-steel Smith and Wesson Magnum aimed directly at me. I froze in position, looking at the narrow, bird-like head cocked to one side, at the gay yellow bow tie, the suit that was too sprightly for a man of his age. It was all as it had been before, except the faded blue eyes held no humor now. They glared at me with an ice-blue coldness, and the wide, mobile mouth was fixed and sullen. The thin, freckled hand holding the gun was steady, but tense with a strain that showed in whitened knuckles. "You don't Want to play with guns now, Doc," I said in a thin tone. "It's too late for that. We've..." "I know," Doc said softly. "Keep your voice down, Mr. Wilde. These doors are partially open. Sit down ... Not there!" His gun waved me away from a chair that was within kicking distance of his big pistol. I perched on the edge Of the bed. "That's better. Feel good. Mr. Wilde? You'd best enjoy your triumph while you can." The violence in his tone was soft and smooth. "But it's finished, Doc," I said angrily. "Stewart's dead. We got the girl and the money." "My money," Doc snarled. "I saw the paper. I read about the clever Mr. Wilde, I should have killed you the day you came on the boat, but..." "But you were scared," I growled. "It all came unstuck, didn't it, Doc? What happened? So much foolishness has gone on that I can't figure what you were trying to do." "Stewart," Doc said bitterly. "The young fool had a girl. I didn't know he was serious about her." I was beginning to understand. "The girl. What a blow for you! So he gave the money to the girl. And you didn't know it. And he was going to take the girl with him. Did you know that?" "Not until I met him in Cincinnati," Doc snarled. "In that ridicu lous set of dungarees, playing schoolboy all over the lot." "It's tough," I said. "I can see that. A slick plan. It should have worked. But it never had a chance. You know that, Doc." "Nonsense. It had every chance," Doc insisted. "Even to the last, it could have worked. If Stewart had been even reasonably intelligent he could have come aboard and brought his stupid girl with him and everything would have..." "You're kidding yourself, Doc. I figured out how you meant to slip him down to the Montelume and get him out of the country. If I'd thought of it earlier I would have waited and picked both of them up safely on the ship. But I didn't fit the picture together till just now. I'm sorry about that: But you were licked from the beginning, Doc." "It was that clumsy oaf, Boltinck!" Doc muttered darkly. "He and his raddled, doxy. Leaving warning notes about, sapping people, making everyone auspicious and..." "You're still playing games, Doc," I said. By now I had overcome most of the initial shock of finding him in my room. I sat back a bit more comfortably. "I'm going to take out my Cigarets. Don't shoot." I grinned at him, watched the muzzle of his gun leap as I brought out my battered pack and my lighter. "You can't blame Boltinck, DOc. It Was Stewart who gummed the works. He didn't need any help. But you gave him a little." I blew a stream of smoke at his gun. "You had to talk, didn't you, Doc? Chatty items culled from a reference book. Short items on history, places and rare gems of insight that suited a slightly sadistic professor of Americana, but were just a little out of place for a con-man. That was a fine character you were playing and I enjoyed every bit of it. Particularly that really brilliant little twist of pretending to be a steeped-in-sin rascal and making just enough errors to push someone into checking up. Someone like me. And then leaving those books out for him to find. I almost apologized to you, Doc, after I fanned your room. Did you know that?" "I relished your consciencestricken face." he said with a light contempt. "But you blew it yourself. You know how, Doc?" He sneered without answering. "How much did you drop on this busted flush, Doc?" I asked sympathetically, hoping to get him to talk, to distract him somehow from his hard concentration on that gun. "More than $5.000," Doc said in a grating voice. "That machinery in the hold belongs to me. I bribed I half the crew of the Montelume, and I even advanced Stewart $500. The fool had not even taken expense money. He gave it all to that girl." I shook my head. I brought the cigaret up to my mouth, pulled at it and let the hand stay high, near the opening of my jacket, not far from my gun, out much too far to have a chance against the steady gun Doc was holding on me. "I'm cleaned. Wilde." he said tightly. "This would have been my big haul. Fifty thousand dollars. First Stewart, then you, then Boltinck. Interfering, blundering morons, ruining, a perfect scheme. I even planned the robbery for that asinine young fool. I rehearsed him. I paid for his reservation. I nursed him along and you... you ..." His eyes seemed to grow large almost glaring with intensity. I shifted the cigaret in my hand, watching the old madman work himself to a killing fury. I moved the cigaret slowly, getting it between two fingers so I could flip it, but knowing I didn't have a chance against him. He was keyed so tensely now that he would shoot faster than I could wink. But I couldn't just sit there and be shot. I tensed my finger. Something brushed softly against the door outside. Doc turned his head in an involuntary reflex, but only for a flickering second I snapped my cigaret at his face and jumped. The cigaret bounced uselessly off his shoulder. And I slipped on the bedclothes that dropped to the floor, slipped and went down on one knee, cracking my head solidly against the leg of a chair. I didn't see the door open. I saw Doc standing over me, saw his Magnum aimed directly at my eye. And I saw a shiny leather camera case swing and catch the elegant maniac squarely on the head above his ear. He went down slowly, the big pistol slipped from his lax hand. I stayed there, braced by my right hand, against the floor, my head still ringing from the crack it had taken. And Doc came down to join me, crumpling limply to the floor. I just looked at him. I didn't move until Ellen knelt beside me to help me up. I was seeing only a hazy, kaleidoscopic impression of what was happening. Grodnik and Russell drifted into view and drifted away again. Then I was outside, sitting in a deck chair, feeling a soft southern breeze against my fact and Ellen's hand stroking softly. "No more." I remember saying that. Ellen tells me I said it over and over. "No more." And then I was alert again, but very tired as if I hadn't been to bed for a week. Grodnik came to perch on a chair beside me and he grinned at me. "He's a feisty old dog." he Said. "You think he's sane?" "Not any more," I said. "He shot the moon and lost his roll. He's finished." "Yeah. He sure had it in for you," Grodnik said, "Well, I'll go and tell the chief what happened here; make sure he gets it. straight." He rose and held out his big hand to Ellen. "Hope I'll be seeing you again, miss. That was a wonderful sock when you cracked that fellow. Break, you camera?" "It doesn't matter," she said softly. Grodnik looked down at me, and from the expression I knew he saw Ellen as I did. "I could come back later," he said hesitantly, "if there's anything I could do for you?" "You could come back this evening, captain," I said. "We're making u trip to Algiers. Like you to come along." "Algiers?" Grodnik's eyes widened. "Oh, Algiers. Sure. The Kasbah, eh?" He glanced at Ellen in alarm. "Little far, ain't it?" "Not far," Ellen said. "It isn't far at all, captain. Come and see," CHAPTER THIRTY Copyright 1954, by Bart Spicer Distributed by King Features Syndicate by BART SPICER I RAPPED lightly on the door and watched it swing open under my hand. I'd been in there before. Then I'd been suckered by an attractive red-herring. I'd been handed a suspicion and led carefully to accept a prepared solution. It was neat. Tidy and careful and just a little humorous, qualities of mind that fitted Doc Riggs perfectly. The bedroom was empty. The luggage was still there. The room was disarranged slightly, clearly occupied by a man who meant to return. I closed the door and walked slowly up to my room, trying to figure the beat move to make now. Doc Riggs was on board, expecting Stewart, But if he had seen a copy of the paper he knew the game was over. Now what? He hadn't packed anything, so he didn't plan to run. Somehow running wouldn't be in character for Doc. I got out my key, opened the door and went in. The night-time curtains were still drawn, but even so I could see that my bed was still unmade. Probably Russell couldn't keep maids working either, not on Masking Day. I hauled back one of the curtains and then I saw him, sitting erect in a chair facing me, one leg draped over the other, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other balanced on his knee, holding a blue-steel Smith and Wesson Magnum aimed directly at me. I froze in position, looking at the narrow, bird-like head cocked to one side, at the gay yellow bow tie, the suit that was too sprightly for a man of his age. It was all as it had been before, except the faded blue eyes held no humor now. They glared at me with an ice-blue coldness, and the wide, mobile mouth was fixed and sullen. The thin, freckled hand holding the gun was steady, but tense with a strain that showed in whitened knuckles. "You don't Want to play with guns now, Doc," I said in a thin tone. "It's too late for that. We've..." "I know," Doc said softly. "Keep your voice down, Mr. Wilde. These doors are partially open. Sit down ... Not there!" His gun waved me away from a chair that was within kicking distance of his big pistol. I perched on the edge Of the bed. "That's better. Feel good. Mr. Wilde? You'd best enjoy your triumph while you can." The violence in his tone was soft and smooth. "But it's finished, Doc," I said angrily. "Stewart's dead. We got the girl and the money." "My money," Doc snarled. "I saw the paper. I read about the clever Mr. Wilde, I should have killed you the day you came on the boat, but..." "But you were scared," I growled. "It all came unstuck, didn't it, Doc? What happened? So much foolishness has gone on that I can't figure what you were trying to do." "Stewart," Doc said bitterly. "The young fool had a girl. I didn't know he was serious about her." I was beginning to understand. "The girl. What a blow for you! So he gave the money to the girl. And you didn't know it. And he was going to take the girl with him. Did you know that?" "Not until I met him in Cincinnati," Doc snarled. "In that ridicu lous set of dungarees, playing schoolboy all over the lot." "It's tough," I said. "I can see that. A slick plan. It should have worked. But it never had a chance. You know that, Doc." "Nonsense. It had every chance," Doc insisted. "Even to the last, it could have worked. If Stewart had been even reasonably intelligent he could have come aboard and brought his stupid girl with him and everything would have..." "You're kidding yourself, Doc. I figured out how you meant to slip him down to the Montelume and get him out of the country. If I'd thought of it earlier I would have waited and picked both of them up safely on the ship. But I didn't fit the picture together till just now. I'm sorry about that: But you were licked from the beginning, Doc." "It was that clumsy oaf, Boltinck!" Doc muttered darkly. "He and his raddled, doxy. Leaving warning notes about, sapping people, making everyone auspicious and..." "You're still playing games, Doc," I said. By now I had overcome most of the initial shock of finding him in my room. I sat back a bit more comfortably. "I'm going to take out my Cigarets. Don't shoot." I grinned at him, watched the muzzle of his gun leap as I brought out my battered pack and my lighter. "You can't blame Boltinck, DOc. It Was Stewart who gummed the works. He didn't need any help. But you gave him a little." I blew a stream of smoke at his gun. "You had to talk, didn't you, Doc? Chatty items culled from a reference book. Short items on history, places and rare gems of insight that suited a slightly sadistic professor of Americana, but were just a little out of place for a con-man. That was a fine character you were playing and I enjoyed every bit of it. Particularly that really brilliant little twist of pretending to be a steeped-in-sin rascal and making just enough errors to push someone into checking up. Someone like me. And then leaving those books out for him to find. I almost apologized to you, Doc, after I fanned your room. Did you know that?" "I relished your consciencestricken face." he said with a light contempt. "But you blew it yourself. You know how, Doc?" He sneered without answering. "How much did you drop on this busted flush, Doc?" I asked sympathetically, hoping to get him to talk, to distract him somehow from his hard concentration on that gun. "More than $5.000," Doc said in a grating voice. "That machinery in the hold belongs to me. I bribed I half the crew of the Montelume, and I even advanced Stewart $500. The fool had not even taken expense money. He gave it all to that girl." I shook my head. I brought the cigaret up to my mouth, pulled at it and let the hand stay high, near the opening of my jacket, not far from my gun, out much too far to have a chance against the steady gun Doc was holding on me. "I'm cleaned. Wilde." he said tightly. "This would have been my big haul. Fifty thousand dollars. First Stewart, then you, then Boltinck. Interfering, blundering morons, ruining, a perfect scheme. I even planned the robbery for that asinine young fool. I rehearsed him. I paid for his reservation. I nursed him along and you... you ..." His eyes seemed to grow large almost glaring with intensity. I shifted the cigaret in my hand, watching the old madman work himself to a killing fury. I moved the cigaret slowly, getting it between two fingers so I could flip it, but knowing I didn't have a chance against him. He was keyed so tensely now that he would shoot faster than I could wink. But I couldn't just sit there and be shot. I tensed my finger. Something brushed softly against the door outside. Doc turned his head in an involuntary reflex, but only for a flickering second I snapped my cigaret at his face and jumped. The cigaret bounced uselessly off his shoulder. And I slipped on the bedclothes that dropped to the floor, slipped and went down on one knee, cracking my head solidly against the leg of a chair. I didn't see the door open. I saw Doc standing over me, saw his Magnum aimed directly at my eye. And I saw a shiny leather camera case swing and catch the elegant maniac squarely on the head above his ear. He went down slowly, the big pistol slipped from his lax hand. I stayed there, braced by my right hand, against the floor, my head still ringing from the crack it had taken. And Doc came down to join me, crumpling limply to the floor. I just looked at him. I didn't move until Ellen knelt beside me to help me up. I was seeing only a hazy, kaleidoscopic impression of what was happening. Grodnik and Russell drifted into view and drifted away again. Then I was outside, sitting in a deck chair, feeling a soft southern breeze against my fact and Ellen's hand stroking softly. "No more." I remember saying that. Ellen tells me I said it over and over. "No more." And then I was alert again, but very tired as if I hadn't been to bed for a week. Grodnik came to perch on a chair beside me and he grinned at me. "He's a feisty old dog." he Said. "You think he's sane?" "Not any more," I said. "He shot the moon and lost his roll. He's finished." "Yeah. He sure had it in for you," Grodnik said, "Well, I'll go and tell the chief what happened here; make sure he gets it. straight." He rose and held out his big hand to Ellen. "Hope I'll be seeing you again, miss. That was a wonderful sock when you cracked that fellow. Break, you camera?" "It doesn't matter," she said softly. Grodnik looked down at me, and from the expression I knew he saw Ellen as I did. "I could come back later," he said hesitantly, "if there's anything I could do for you?" "You could come back this evening, captain," I said. "We're making u trip to Algiers. Like you to come along." "Algiers?" Grodnik's eyes widened. "Oh, Algiers. Sure. The Kasbah, eh?" He glanced at Ellen in alarm. "Little far, ain't it?" "Not far," Ellen said. "It isn't far at all, captain. Come and see," NEHRU OPPOSES REDS TWICE IN A ROW Prime Minister Jewaharlal Nehru's antiRed feelings have been aired twice in the last thirty days—once last month and again the other day. During a hot session in the lower house of-the Indian Parliament at New Delhi on December 18,1954, Mr. Nehru sharply attacked a Communit Party-engineered resolution which censured the Speaker of the House (G. V. Mavalankar) for circumventing, as the Party charged, free discussion of topics likely to cause embarrassment to the government. According to the New York Times, the Prime Minister called the resolution vicious and said it indicated the Party's incompetence. He also sad that he had never expected any sense of responsibility from them (Communists.) Then on January 15, of this year, acording to the Times, the 65-yearold Indian bead appealed personally to thousands of the inhabitants assembled in the Andhran town of Vijayavada, to prevent Andhra from becoming the first Red-governed state. Of course, these two accounts are not surprising to the Indians Who have particually always sized him up as anti-Red. Robert Trumbull, New York Times correspondent in India, says that Nehru's governmeht has jailed thousands of Communists, far more than any other country. This would certainly confirm the Indians' point of view. The accusations made abroad, however, that Mr. Nehru is soft toward "Commies" of his anti-Red feeling. Although this feeling abroad may be due to the fact that the Prime Minister's foreign policy frequently sides with Russia's as against her opponents, his equivocation may have been due to his views on coexistence as he brought them out during his visit with Chou En-lai. Although he has made the last two anti Red commitments," it remains to be seen more definitely just which side be really is on. It appears that he is very much against the Communists, but many people would prefer being left without even a shadow of a doubt. Honor "Y" Head In Chicago O. O. Morris, executive secretary of the Wash ington Park YMCA has been awarded a gold service medal for 35 years of outstanding contributions to the work of the Young Men's Christian Association in America In making the award at the first annual dinner meeting of the Washington Park offiale, L. L McClow, general secretary of the YMCA in Chicago said: "O O. Morris has accomplished the impossible, not only on the South Side of Chicago but in our total program on the city-wide basis." The dinner was attended by more than 260 officials and volunteer leaders of the YMCA and was held in the Town Hall at Washington Park YMCA; with A W. Williams insurance executive and board chairman, presiding Others awarded were: James G. G. Brawn, for 25 years of service; Miss Elizabeth Pulley, for 20 years of service; Herman Brand, for 10 years and James Gleason for five years. A record budget of 396,570 has been set for the Washington Park YMCA in 1955. Co-ops urge the U. S. to ease its foreign trade curbs. COW EATS POISON After breaking in to an old shed on Peter Suta's ranch 70 cows ate some sawdust stored there. Thirty-five of the cows died. Suta said arsenic had been mixed with the sawdust some twenty years, ago to be used as grasshopper bait. it's Crystal Clear it's 94.4 Proof DISTILLED LONDON DRY GIN DISTILLED IN LINDEN 94.4 PROOF G BOTTLED NEW JERSEY 100% NEUTRAL SPIRITS DISTILLED FROM GRAIN OFFICE EST ONE PINT 1769 94.4 PROOF DISTILLED & BOTTLED IN THE U.S.A. BY THE DISTILLERS COMPANY LIMITED LINDEN NEW JERSEY GORDON'S DRY GIN COMPANY LIMITED LINDEN NEW JERSEY ACCORDING TO THE FORMULA OR TANQUERAY GORDON & CO. LTD LONDON ENGLAND THE HEART OF A GOOD COCKTAIL Gordon's 100% NEUTRAL SPIRITS DISTILLED FROM GRAIN. GORDON'S DRY GIN CO., LTD, LINDEN, N. J. Jubilect Set the elementary school sales... Miss Erma Clanton, ZoZo Club chairman, high school representative with her committee of thirty ZOZO students from each of the five public schools, and one parochial school... and popular Jas. Jacobs, heading the Mien's Social Club groups. The fast moving high school amateur show is an annual event, and it will benefit the over-all May celebration... The Memphis Cotton Makers Jubilee. "THE JUBILECT JUMP," A.O. Williams' 2-hour stage show features the candidates for the "Spirit of Cotton-Makers Jubilee" from the various colleges within continental United States; the youthful, and talented artist, Quincy A. Johnson, whose' brilliant concert was recently acclaimed by outstanding music critics... and who made headlines and rated a full page pictorial notice in one Of the local papers as the WDTA TriState Fair talent winner; and a cast of hopeful and potential artists from the city's high schools. These are American youth... fresh... sparkling... and talented. Mr. Williams points out that tomorrow's stars will romp across this stage and give performances which will pave the way toward J professionalism. His right hand man... Lewis Williams, the epitome of masculine charm gets his first chance on the production end of the big show. He is fast moving up in the business world and is packed with high octane promotion ideas. Don't miss your 1955 JUBILECT For further details call A. C. Williams 36-2703 or Mrs. Anne Brown. 5-6406. Lincoln Univ. Poll Shows Publishing Drop The number of Negro newspapers being published in the United States and Alaska has dropped from 202 a year ago to 190 at the end of 1954, a recent poll conducted by the Lincoln university school of journalism shows. The poll is conducted annually, and covers 32 states, the District of Columbia and Alaska. A breakdown of the latest figure shows one daily, four semi-weekly three bi-weekly, and 182 weekly publications. According to the survey, 29 news papers went into operation during the past year, as compared to 42 which ceased publication during the same period. Among the new titles were Alaska Spotlight, at Anchorage, and the Arizona Sun, Phoenix, Ariz. Those discontinuing operation included the Macon (Ga.) World, Chicago Enterprise and the Cleveland Herald. Also included in the number was the Ohio Daily Express. The poll also shows Alabama lead ing the nation with 16 newspapers, three less, however, than it had at the start of 1954. A further breakdown follows: Tennessee, 13; California, 12; Ohio, 11; and Florida and Texas, 10 each. 15 states which have no Negro newspapers include: Vermont, New Hampshire Rhode Island, Montana, Connecticut, North and South Dakota, Utah. New Mexico, Nevada, Idaho, Maine, West Virginia and Delaware. Got OILY SKIN? Formulated to lesson shine, banish blemishes... to give you satin lovely skin!!