Memphis World
Memphis World Publishing Co.
1952-09-16
James H. Purdy, Jr.


Nation's Dignitaries Converge
On Chicago For Spirited Confab

Pleasant weather helped Windy
Citizens put out the welcome mat
to delegates of the world's second
largest non-Catholic religious body.
This city has been tuned all the
year for great conventions both political 
and religious.
High officials welcomed the Baptists. 
Among them was Gov. Adlai
Stevenson, who took time out from
his campaigning to send a warm
greeting of welcome to Dr. J. L.
Horace, pastor, Monumental Baptist 
Church, host church. Mayor
Martin H. Kennelly greeted the
convention on Wednesday morning
on behalf of the city of Chicago
Other dignitaries also addressed
the body. Among them was John H.
Sengstacke, editor-publisher of the
Chicago Defender, who said: "We
are honored to have you in our
midst for you are truly the warp
and woof of our national fibre. You
have made possible through your
faith and prayers the founding of

great institutions such as the Chicago 
Defender."
Dr. L. M. Tobin, pastor, Providence 
Baptist Church, Atlanta, and
teacher in School of Religion, Morehouse 
College, is expected to plane
his way here as well as Mrs. Ester
Smith, representative of the foreign
Mission Board and J. B. Blayton,
owner of WERD and auditor of
the convention. Rev. and Mrs. Tobin 
were at the Union Station
Monday to see the delegation off
for Chicago.
Two big things have met here in
Chicago: The National Baptist
Convention, representing a membership 
of over four and one half
million and the city of Chicago,
which has a population of over 4,000,000 
souls.
Negro workers are active here in
public transportation. Some operate
trollies, taxies and etc Both white
and colored taximen offered fine
service to the delegates. This is a

busy city. People are going to
work at most all hours of day and
night, hence, the transportation
system is busy all night long.
The Armory could not hold the
mighty host of people who tried to
attend the pre-convention event at
which time, Dr. W. H. Borders,
Atlanta, was the speaker and musical 
was presented by a 1,000 voice
choir. Traffic moved at snail-like
pace in the vicinity of Wentworth
Armory, the Whitesox Ball Park,
which is directly in front of the
Armory. It was one "mess"
(Thanks to Eisenhower for the
word), on Tuesday night, for the
Whitesox team was playing in Chicago 
a 'night game. This is truly a
bad location for the convention.
Fumes from a nearby battery business 
had the delegates coughing on
all sides. The outside of the Armory 
has so many booths selling
this and that until it looks like a
carnival. We trust the day will
soon come when the convention will
cut out this "side show" where several 
different, kinds of wears are
peddled from telling you how to
preach a sermon to snake oil. Nuff
sed.
Much of Negro Chicago is still
too slummy to attract the writer as
a resident. These people need to be
taught to clean up some of the
"mess" on the side walks in front
of their homes It kinda reminds
one of the "mess" Candidate
Eisenhower, Republican, says we
need to clean up in Washington. He
was referring to the "mess" the
Democrats have brought to pass in
Washington.
Up until Tuesday night, the
white press had devoted little or no
space to convention. Wonder who
is responsible? White papers in the
South will beat that We have often
wondered why the white northern
press didn't say more about the
activities of its Negro citizens.
Mrs. C. M. Pearson, Atlanta, is
among the leading Baptist women
on the scene here. Here also to
play their parts are Mesdames L.
M. Terrill, Eva May Arnold, M. L.
King; Ida P Henderson, Anna
Durham, P. L. Ivory, B. J. Johnson, 
Mrs. Thompson. Mt. iZon, Atlanta, 
H. M. Smith, Rossie P. Bivins, 
Mary Walker, missionary, Mrs.
Grant, of Wheat Street Baptist
Church, Mrs. L A Pinkston, Mrs.
N. W. Crawford and others.
We are quit grateful to popular
Miss Doris H. Coleman, who is
niece to my better half, for looking
after things with assistance of her
father, Dea Charles Coleman, at
685 Kendall Street, NE, Atlanta,
while we are here attending the big
Baptist meet and taking a muchneeded 
rest Doris, as we call her,
is a graduate of Spelman College
and has nearly completed work for
Masters from Atlanta U., specializing 
in English She is a first year
teacher this year at David T. Ho
ward 
High School. Many thanks to
you, Doris. Your aunt Eva sends
best of love.
Here to attend the meeting is
Rev. W. A. Bowens, pastor, New
Hope. Baptist Church, Powder
Springs, Ga. The writer will preach
at his church on first Sunday in
November.
On last Sunday, before leaving
for Chicago, we preached at Mt.
Sinia Baptist Church, Vinnings, Ga.
for Rev. S. M. Shorter, pastor
Shouting took place during the services 
and we had a great meeting:
Pastor Shorter is a fine man. On
that afternoon, Rev. M. J. Stephens, 
Atlanta, was the guest
speaker. He also stirred the people.
We shall preach for Rev. Stephens
on the second Sunday in October
at his church, Tabernacle Baptist
Church, a Firmount, Ga. While at
Vinings we were royally entertained
by the good members of Mt. Sinia
and Mr. and Mrs. Row, long time
and prominent citizens of Vinings
They say Vinings is God's country
and that white and colored get
along peacefully, inviting the writer
to buy a country home in Vinings.
Among the active laymen here
from Georgia we have Dea C
Broadnax, prominent member of
Beulah, Atlanta; Prof Dixon, educator. 
Bainbridge, Ga.; Dea.

Thompson, Mt. Zion, Atlanta; Dea.
P. O. Watson, Ebenezer, Atlanta,
father of Dr. Watson, head of
School of Religion, Morehouse College; 
and others to be mentioned
later.
Dr. W. H. Borders, Atlanta, and
Rev. Joel L. King, near Detroit,
were eyed at station in Chicago to
greet the Georgia delegation on arrival. 
Dr. Borders rode the Georgain 
ahead of the regular train carrying 
the delegates, while Dr. L. A.
Pinkston, Atlanta chose to ride
the train carrying the delegates and
he was busy on the way and at
Chicago seeing after their needs.
That is just like big brother, Dr
Pinkston, who is the acknowledged
leader of around 700,000 Baptists in
Georgia.
Delegates are loud in their praises
of the Atlanta Daily World and religious 
editor, Rev. Arnold for advance 
publicity given for convention. 
It is believed that such publicity 
had much to do with such a
large delegation from Georgia at
confab this year.
The Georgia delegates rode peacefully 
together from both conventions 
in state Rumor has it that
Georgia Baptists are beginning to
agitate for one convention. They
are about fed up with the two convention 
idea Something may be
done about this situation quicker

than on might think. Both organizations 
and leaders may have to
go. Riding to confab together is a
good step in the right direction for
unity among Georgia Baptists.
Some Georgia preachers seen in
passing: Rev. J. J. Minor, E. D.
Lawson, M. J. Jackson, D. A. Dixon, 
J. H: Gaines, H. M. Alexander, 
J. W. Bloodsaw, H. Bussey, J.
J. Grogan, O. S. Hamilton, O. L.
Kelly, C. W. Huff. P. J. Ivory, O.
L. Jackson, P. L. Jones, J. H.
Lockett, I S. Mack, E. R. McClendon, 
Washington, Ga., W. H.
Perry, W. H. Randolph, H. M.
Smith, A. L. Thomas, Tuskegee,
Ala., O. L. Walls. W. W. Weatherspool, 
O. C. Woods, A. L. Humphrey, 
Revs. R. A Hall and M.
Tate, both of Athens, Rev. Thomas, 
Beulah, Edgewood, Rev.
Vaugh, Rome; Rev. Collins, Rome;
Rev Kay, Cartersville; Rev. Neal,
Bainbridge; Rev. J. H. Sanders
Augusta; among ladies from Georgia: 
Miss Elizabeth Whitehead, who
was eyed in the dinner sitting just
behind Rev and Mrs. T Arnold
enjoing a good dinner; Mrs. W.
H. Randolph, Bland town; Miss J.
H. Sanders, Augusta; Mrs. Baker,
Beulah, Atlanta; and others to be
mentioned as we run across them.
The convention will close Sunday
with a great rally for foreign mission's, 
which is really the heart of
the convention. More money is
raised for foreign mission than anything 
else That's all for this time.
We had a steak the other day, but
it was tough. (Smile) By the way,
we didn't get enough money to
have that cow killed, but we are
determined to eat some tender,
nice, juicy steak while we are here.
That's all for this time. See you
later, folk. Bye now.

Jemison Re-Elected To
Baptists' Presidency

The plea came from Dr. D. V.
Jemison, Selma, Alabama, president
in his annual address.
Dr. Jemison, who is in his 70's,
has served the body as head for
13 years. Preceding his address he
was reelected as president for his
14th term.
"There is only one reason the
world finds itself in its present
turmoil of weakness," Dr. Jemison
averred. "It's because the word of
the Lord is being disregarded in
so many places."
Thousand of delegates will join
today in honoring one of the most
famous men of the denominating
Dr. A. M. Townsend, Nashville,
Tenn., secretary of Sunday School
Publishing Board. Participants will
donate $3.20—10 cents for each
year of Dr. Townsend's service to
the Memorial Underwriters campaign. 
Thirty-two years ago Dr.
Townsend's service tl.
Townsend, a prominent physician
and surgeon in Nashville, was
named executive treasurer of the
Sunday School Publishing Board.
During the days since then he has
brought prestige and honor to the
denomination.
Eighteen years ago he was named 
secretary of the Finance Committee 
of the National Baptist

Convention.
J. B. Blayton, Atlanta, owner of
Radio Station WERD and promiment 
Baptist layman, is convention 
auditor. He made a farreaching 
report Thursday after
planing his way to same.
Dr. C. C. Adams, corresponding
secretary of the Foreign Mission
Board, said that from July 1, 1951
to June 30, 1952 a total of $435,211.86 
had been raised for foreign
missions. He also pointed out that
organization supports 18 mission
In Africa. The sum of $5,000 was
raised for missions Thursday night.
Funds for a new dormitory in
India have been supplied by Olivet
Baptist Church of Chicago, Rev.
J. H. Jackson, pastor, the Rev. J.
Raymond Henderson, of Los Angeles, 
California, superintendent of
construction of churches, reported
Fifteen hundred women will attend 
w8
Fifteen hundred women will take
part in a parade from Progressive
Baptist Church to Armory starting
at 9 a. m. Sunday.
The parade will be led by Mrs.
Margaret Crawford, field director
of the Foreign Missions Board and
president of the Junior Matron of
Greater Mt. Vernon Baptist
Church, Chicago.


by
ELSIE MACK
Copyright, 1952, by Elsie Mack. Distributed by king Features Syndicate.
Beautiful, calculating Eve Raymond
seemed always to get what she wanted.
Now it in a New York divorce and a
large money settlement from her husband. 
Assuming the name of Romley,
Eve returns to the small town of
Thurstonia. Here Nance Ireland,
adopted daughter of the Ireland family
plans to marry their son handsome
young Dr. Jeremy Ireland.
"A PAINTBRUSH in one hand
and a sandwich in the other," Eleanor 
groaned resignedly as Nance
went upstairs. "She'll work herself
to a frazzle, Hattie, and be a hag
in her bridal veil."
"She'll look wonderful, Mrs. Ireland, 
and you know it."
Eleanor smiled, "it's incredible,
isn't it, Hattie, how she has blossomed 
out? Remember when she
first came to us, all eyes and
bones?"
"Yes," Hattie said. She was
gathering the breakfast dishes and
Stacking them on the tray. "Yes,
I remember. Skinny and shy and
scared of her own shadow."
"She's changed amazingly."
"All she needed," Hattie said
gruffly, "was love,"
"It has been so easy to love
Nance." Eleanor's eyes were
thoughtful as she snipped off a
dead bloom here and there from
the African violets on the sill.
Hattie, resting the loaded tray
on a chair back, stopped beside
her. "You're thinking," she accused, 
"of—that other one."
Eleanor nodded and abstractedly
plucked off a fresh bloom. "I've
wondered, Hattie, what became of
her. She was so beautiful."
Hattie's scornful little sound
conceded to beauty something less
than skin-deep importance.
Eleanor thought, It's difficult,
Sometimes, to be sure one has
acted wisely. Time blurs the sharp
edge of issues, gives them objectivity. 
One acquires a broader perspective. 
. . "I've never been
quite sure, Hattie."
Hattie made a deprecating murmur. 
"You did the only thing possible, 
Mrs. Ireland."
"Did I, Hattie? I wonder. I've
often questioned my patience, my
lack of wisdom. I can look back,
now, and ask myself if I had done

this, or that, might it have worked
out?"
"No," said Hattie with conviction. 
"She would have broken your
heart."
"Did I break herb, Hattie?"
"She didn't have a heart!"
Eleanor smiled with affectionate
Indulgence. "You've never given
my conscience a chance to prick,
have you? You and Sam."
"Just don't think any more
about her," Hattie counseled grimly, 
as she carried the tray to the
kitchen.
Hattie was right, Eleanor told
herself firmly. She had done the
only thing possible. Of course she
had! But she was faintly alarmed
at this belated need for self-vindication. 

Upstairs at the mirror, she settled 
the absurd halo of veiling and
cornflowers oh her head and
studied the effect judiciously. A
little too young, but Sam hated the
dowager hats and she had faith
in Sam's judgments. It was Sam
who had climaxed those weeks of
wavering and indecision by saying,
"Let the child go, Eleanor."
Those words! Eleanor visioned
once more a child's face blotched
and swollen by weeping, ravaged
by penitence and misery which
would have been Eleanor's undoing 
had she not by then known
them as false. She heard in the
room the tear-thick echo of the
child's voice. "Give me another
chance, Mrs. Ireland. Just one
more chance. I'll be good. I promise 
I'll be good."
"No," Eleanor said, not aware
that she spoke aloud.
The imagined face hardened.
"I'll get even with you," the voice
screamed. "I'll pay you back. I'll
make you wish you hadn't turned
me out . . ."
Eleanor, a rather pretty woman
in her late forties, took fresh
gloves from her drawer and drew
them on, her mind already on the
pleasant walk to the dressmaker's
as she went downstairs and out
of the house.
From her studio in the attic,
Nance watched her go. She was
sharpening a pencil which was already 
needle-sharp. Stalling, she
thought, amused. Why do authors
and artists, always?
It was a pleasant from, excellently 
lighted, designed primarily
for work, although there was a
fireplace and a wide circular couch,
a leather chair grooved by body
contours, a fat, fringed hassock.
When we build our house, she
thought, I shall ask Jeremy to insulate 
the attic and duplicate this
room for me. He will, because he
knows how much I love this.
On the walls were framed pictures 
with her signature. All is
black and white. When she was
fifteen, an Internationally famed
artist had been in town with an
exhibit of his painting. The art
teacher at the high school had
shown him some of Nance's work.
His comment, "Unusual talent,"
had sent Nance soaring along the
Milky Way, until his "Lord, what
a clumsy hand with color!" had
driven her in panic to an optometrist, 
who had informed her she
was color blind.
It had narrowed her field to
etching and black and white brushwork, 
but within the enforced limitations 
she had achieved a measure 
of success commercially. The
whimsical and fanciful imagery of
her work had brought her a ready
market in illustrating juvenile
books.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she'd said,
to Jeremy when she signed her
first contract with the New York
firm. "I'll never have to really
grow up! I'll get paid for putting
on paper all the dreams of childhood!" 

Her talk with Eleanor this
morning had awakened in her
mind the dreary years when only
an over - busy imagination had
made supportable her vast loneliness. 
Sometimes she was a princess 
in pearl-embroidered velvet,
with a satin-clad court to do her
bidding. Mostly she was a child
with two parents, four grandparents, 
a baker's dozen of brothers,
and sisters, and scores of uncles
and aunts and cousins. And always
she was beautiful, with plump butter-yellow 
curls and assorted dimples 
and eyelashes half an inch
long, so that one of the couples
who came to the Home would surely 
want her for their very own
child.


SYNOPSIS
by
ELSIE MACK
Copyright, 1952, by Elsie Mack. Distributed by king Features Syndicate.
Beautiful, calculating Eve Raymond
seemed always to get what she wanted.
Now it in a New York divorce and a
large money settlement from her husband. 
Assuming the name of Romley,
Eve returns to the small town of
Thurstonia. Here Nance Ireland,
adopted daughter of the Ireland family
plans to marry their son handsome
young Dr. Jeremy Ireland.
"A PAINTBRUSH in one hand
and a sandwich in the other," Eleanor 
groaned resignedly as Nance
went upstairs. "She'll work herself
to a frazzle, Hattie, and be a hag
in her bridal veil."
"She'll look wonderful, Mrs. Ireland, 
and you know it."
Eleanor smiled, "it's incredible,
isn't it, Hattie, how she has blossomed 
out? Remember when she
first came to us, all eyes and
bones?"
"Yes," Hattie said. She was
gathering the breakfast dishes and
Stacking them on the tray. "Yes,
I remember. Skinny and shy and
scared of her own shadow."
"She's changed amazingly."
"All she needed," Hattie said
gruffly, "was love,"
"It has been so easy to love
Nance." Eleanor's eyes were
thoughtful as she snipped off a
dead bloom here and there from
the African violets on the sill.
Hattie, resting the loaded tray
on a chair back, stopped beside
her. "You're thinking," she accused, 
"of—that other one."
Eleanor nodded and abstractedly
plucked off a fresh bloom. "I've
wondered, Hattie, what became of
her. She was so beautiful."
Hattie's scornful little sound
conceded to beauty something less
than skin-deep importance.
Eleanor thought, It's difficult,
Sometimes, to be sure one has
acted wisely. Time blurs the sharp
edge of issues, gives them objectivity. 
One acquires a broader perspective. 
. . "I've never been
quite sure, Hattie."
Hattie made a deprecating murmur. 
"You did the only thing possible, 
Mrs. Ireland."
"Did I, Hattie? I wonder. I've
often questioned my patience, my
lack of wisdom. I can look back,
now, and ask myself if I had done

this, or that, might it have worked
out?"
"No," said Hattie with conviction. 
"She would have broken your
heart."
"Did I break herb, Hattie?"
"She didn't have a heart!"
Eleanor smiled with affectionate
Indulgence. "You've never given
my conscience a chance to prick,
have you? You and Sam."
"Just don't think any more
about her," Hattie counseled grimly, 
as she carried the tray to the
kitchen.
Hattie was right, Eleanor told
herself firmly. She had done the
only thing possible. Of course she
had! But she was faintly alarmed
at this belated need for self-vindication. 

Upstairs at the mirror, she settled 
the absurd halo of veiling and
cornflowers oh her head and
studied the effect judiciously. A
little too young, but Sam hated the
dowager hats and she had faith
in Sam's judgments. It was Sam
who had climaxed those weeks of
wavering and indecision by saying,
"Let the child go, Eleanor."
Those words! Eleanor visioned
once more a child's face blotched
and swollen by weeping, ravaged
by penitence and misery which
would have been Eleanor's undoing 
had she not by then known
them as false. She heard in the
room the tear-thick echo of the
child's voice. "Give me another
chance, Mrs. Ireland. Just one
more chance. I'll be good. I promise 
I'll be good."
"No," Eleanor said, not aware
that she spoke aloud.
The imagined face hardened.
"I'll get even with you," the voice
screamed. "I'll pay you back. I'll
make you wish you hadn't turned
me out . . ."
Eleanor, a rather pretty woman
in her late forties, took fresh
gloves from her drawer and drew
them on, her mind already on the
pleasant walk to the dressmaker's
as she went downstairs and out
of the house.
From her studio in the attic,
Nance watched her go. She was
sharpening a pencil which was already 
needle-sharp. Stalling, she
thought, amused. Why do authors
and artists, always?
It was a pleasant from, excellently 
lighted, designed primarily
for work, although there was a
fireplace and a wide circular couch,
a leather chair grooved by body
contours, a fat, fringed hassock.
When we build our house, she
thought, I shall ask Jeremy to insulate 
the attic and duplicate this
room for me. He will, because he
knows how much I love this.
On the walls were framed pictures 
with her signature. All is
black and white. When she was
fifteen, an Internationally famed
artist had been in town with an
exhibit of his painting. The art
teacher at the high school had
shown him some of Nance's work.
His comment, "Unusual talent,"
had sent Nance soaring along the
Milky Way, until his "Lord, what
a clumsy hand with color!" had
driven her in panic to an optometrist, 
who had informed her she
was color blind.
It had narrowed her field to
etching and black and white brushwork, 
but within the enforced limitations 
she had achieved a measure 
of success commercially. The
whimsical and fanciful imagery of
her work had brought her a ready
market in illustrating juvenile
books.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she'd said,
to Jeremy when she signed her
first contract with the New York
firm. "I'll never have to really
grow up! I'll get paid for putting
on paper all the dreams of childhood!" 

Her talk with Eleanor this
morning had awakened in her
mind the dreary years when only
an over - busy imagination had
made supportable her vast loneliness. 
Sometimes she was a princess 
in pearl-embroidered velvet,
with a satin-clad court to do her
bidding. Mostly she was a child
with two parents, four grandparents, 
a baker's dozen of brothers,
and sisters, and scores of uncles
and aunts and cousins. And always
she was beautiful, with plump butter-yellow 
curls and assorted dimples 
and eyelashes half an inch
long, so that one of the couples
who came to the Home would surely 
want her for their very own
child.


CHAPTER THREE
by
ELSIE MACK
Copyright, 1952, by Elsie Mack. Distributed by king Features Syndicate.
Beautiful, calculating Eve Raymond
seemed always to get what she wanted.
Now it in a New York divorce and a
large money settlement from her husband. 
Assuming the name of Romley,
Eve returns to the small town of
Thurstonia. Here Nance Ireland,
adopted daughter of the Ireland family
plans to marry their son handsome
young Dr. Jeremy Ireland.
"A PAINTBRUSH in one hand
and a sandwich in the other," Eleanor 
groaned resignedly as Nance
went upstairs. "She'll work herself
to a frazzle, Hattie, and be a hag
in her bridal veil."
"She'll look wonderful, Mrs. Ireland, 
and you know it."
Eleanor smiled, "it's incredible,
isn't it, Hattie, how she has blossomed 
out? Remember when she
first came to us, all eyes and
bones?"
"Yes," Hattie said. She was
gathering the breakfast dishes and
Stacking them on the tray. "Yes,
I remember. Skinny and shy and
scared of her own shadow."
"She's changed amazingly."
"All she needed," Hattie said
gruffly, "was love,"
"It has been so easy to love
Nance." Eleanor's eyes were
thoughtful as she snipped off a
dead bloom here and there from
the African violets on the sill.
Hattie, resting the loaded tray
on a chair back, stopped beside
her. "You're thinking," she accused, 
"of—that other one."
Eleanor nodded and abstractedly
plucked off a fresh bloom. "I've
wondered, Hattie, what became of
her. She was so beautiful."
Hattie's scornful little sound
conceded to beauty something less
than skin-deep importance.
Eleanor thought, It's difficult,
Sometimes, to be sure one has
acted wisely. Time blurs the sharp
edge of issues, gives them objectivity. 
One acquires a broader perspective. 
. . "I've never been
quite sure, Hattie."
Hattie made a deprecating murmur. 
"You did the only thing possible, 
Mrs. Ireland."
"Did I, Hattie? I wonder. I've
often questioned my patience, my
lack of wisdom. I can look back,
now, and ask myself if I had done

this, or that, might it have worked
out?"
"No," said Hattie with conviction. 
"She would have broken your
heart."
"Did I break herb, Hattie?"
"She didn't have a heart!"
Eleanor smiled with affectionate
Indulgence. "You've never given
my conscience a chance to prick,
have you? You and Sam."
"Just don't think any more
about her," Hattie counseled grimly, 
as she carried the tray to the
kitchen.
Hattie was right, Eleanor told
herself firmly. She had done the
only thing possible. Of course she
had! But she was faintly alarmed
at this belated need for self-vindication. 

Upstairs at the mirror, she settled 
the absurd halo of veiling and
cornflowers oh her head and
studied the effect judiciously. A
little too young, but Sam hated the
dowager hats and she had faith
in Sam's judgments. It was Sam
who had climaxed those weeks of
wavering and indecision by saying,
"Let the child go, Eleanor."
Those words! Eleanor visioned
once more a child's face blotched
and swollen by weeping, ravaged
by penitence and misery which
would have been Eleanor's undoing 
had she not by then known
them as false. She heard in the
room the tear-thick echo of the
child's voice. "Give me another
chance, Mrs. Ireland. Just one
more chance. I'll be good. I promise 
I'll be good."
"No," Eleanor said, not aware
that she spoke aloud.
The imagined face hardened.
"I'll get even with you," the voice
screamed. "I'll pay you back. I'll
make you wish you hadn't turned
me out . . ."
Eleanor, a rather pretty woman
in her late forties, took fresh
gloves from her drawer and drew
them on, her mind already on the
pleasant walk to the dressmaker's
as she went downstairs and out
of the house.
From her studio in the attic,
Nance watched her go. She was
sharpening a pencil which was already 
needle-sharp. Stalling, she
thought, amused. Why do authors
and artists, always?
It was a pleasant from, excellently 
lighted, designed primarily
for work, although there was a
fireplace and a wide circular couch,
a leather chair grooved by body
contours, a fat, fringed hassock.
When we build our house, she
thought, I shall ask Jeremy to insulate 
the attic and duplicate this
room for me. He will, because he
knows how much I love this.
On the walls were framed pictures 
with her signature. All is
black and white. When she was
fifteen, an Internationally famed
artist had been in town with an
exhibit of his painting. The art
teacher at the high school had
shown him some of Nance's work.
His comment, "Unusual talent,"
had sent Nance soaring along the
Milky Way, until his "Lord, what
a clumsy hand with color!" had
driven her in panic to an optometrist, 
who had informed her she
was color blind.
It had narrowed her field to
etching and black and white brushwork, 
but within the enforced limitations 
she had achieved a measure 
of success commercially. The
whimsical and fanciful imagery of
her work had brought her a ready
market in illustrating juvenile
books.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she'd said,
to Jeremy when she signed her
first contract with the New York
firm. "I'll never have to really
grow up! I'll get paid for putting
on paper all the dreams of childhood!" 

Her talk with Eleanor this
morning had awakened in her
mind the dreary years when only
an over - busy imagination had
made supportable her vast loneliness. 
Sometimes she was a princess 
in pearl-embroidered velvet,
with a satin-clad court to do her
bidding. Mostly she was a child
with two parents, four grandparents, 
a baker's dozen of brothers,
and sisters, and scores of uncles
and aunts and cousins. And always
she was beautiful, with plump butter-yellow 
curls and assorted dimples 
and eyelashes half an inch
long, so that one of the couples
who came to the Home would surely 
want her for their very own
child.


TIM TYLER


FLIX THE CAT


Top Extradition Expert
Wins Case Number 86
None of the thousands of race men
and women were as happy as James
Lee Scott who had been indicted
by a Grand jury in Starkville, Mississippi 
for the alleged crime of
stealing a cow from a Mrs. Addie
Pearson Scott had come to Chicago 
in October, 1951, bringing his
family of a wife and six children,
the oldest of which being twelve
years of age.
His attorney, William Henry Huff
in examining him before Chief Justice 
Joseph A. Graber of the Criminal 
Court of Cook County, brought
out the fact that this relator knew
nothing about the theft of the cow
until the police of Chicago approached 
him in March, 1952, with
a warrant charging him with being

a fugitive from justice.
Attorney Huff also brought out
the fact that the warrant claimed
that Scott stole the cow on or before 
October 16, 1951, and informed
the court that such statement was
what is known as a catch-all, that
if Scott, or anyone, had stolen the
cow, Mrs. Pearson would have
known on or about the day the cow
was stolen.
He also brought out that another
child had been born in Chicago
making a total of seven young children 
by James Lee Scott and that
to send him back to the State of
Mississippi upon such flimsy indictment 
would in itself be a gross injustice 
not only to Scott but to the
wife and seven small children.
Attorney Huff brought out too,
that Scott has been gainfully employed 
ever since he has been in
Chicago and had taken care
his family in a very fine way
torney Huff then moved the court
to discharge the relator and the
court said, "I shall net send Scott
back to Mississippi on such indictment 
as the one mentioned."

Police Beat

for children crossing the street en
route to Schaal. A seconds arrest was
made by officers in the vicinity
who gave chase to the second motorist 
for more than a mile in the
School zone.
The local police apprehended
Calvin Rivers, 626 Galloway, whom
they stated confessed to many robberies 
staged by him during recent
month.
Rivers allegedly signed a statement 
of confession to the robberies. 

Police said the robberies consisted 
of jewelry, clothing and monies
left in purses on vanities in which
his entry was gained by unlocking
doors, forcing windows open and
tampering with window screens.
Rivers made a gross mistaks
when he attempted to enter the
home of Patrolman George Sanders
at 615 North 7th St., last Wednesday, 
Patrolman Sanders caught Rivers 
tampering with his window
screen and arrested him.
Some of the persons who appeared 
before the Judge on Saturday
morning for the causes as listed
were; William H. Hall, 900 Crump,
Willie Randolph, 901 Crump and
Willie Neal, 901 Crump for Gaming 
and loitering.
Others were: Hardivin Siles, 1211
Texas, Will G. Luster, 1085 Saint
Charles, Willie Lott. 509 Nc. Fifth
St., Willie Burnette, 108 E. Caldwell; 
Charlie Reeves, 541 R. Alabama, 
Calvin Williams, 838 E. Walker 
and Henry Wright, 1253 South
Lauderdale, for drunkenness.
Maurice Treadwell, 263 S. Driver, 
Disorderly conduct; Ozel
Hardin, 12 S. Auburndale, running
a game; Herman Hardin, Lou's
Cox, Spencer Colemn, McKinlev
Ridgley all of 12 S. Auburndale for
gaming and loitering.
Ovele Brasserll, 770 Hasting, gaming 
and loitering; Jimmie Taylor,
310 Leath, gaming and loitering;
Sam Gibson, 566 Beale, drunk; Jno
Woods; 837 Alaska, drunk, Ernest
Crawford, 27 S. Dudley, Disorderly
conduct and soilciting females
Mary Gill, 27 S. Dudley, operating
a disorderly house; Altona Man- I
ning, 1368 Emmerson, Disorderly
conduct and soliciting males.
Cox Aaa A Ru-u, (mab