The news scimitar. (Memphis, Tenn.) 1907-1926, 1919-08-11
CONTINUED From Previous Issus.l

Copyright by Al Jennings, 1919
CONTINUED From Previous Issus.)
CHAPTER TwENTY-THREE.
A desk and a chair inside the railing
Of the prison drug store-the five wards
OF the hospital grouped around that
store and In those wards from so to 200
patients racked with all manner OF dis
ease. The quiet Of the night disturbed
with the groans Of broken men, the
coughs Of the wasted, the frightened
gasp of the dying. The night nurse
padding from ward TO ward and every
once in a while returning TO the drug
store with the crude Information-an-
other con- has croaked. Then, down
the corridors the rattle OF the wheel
barrow and the negro Me-termer
humping the stiff to the dead house.
A desk and a chair settled in the raw
heart of chill depression!
There az that desk, night after night,
sat Bill Porter. And IN the grisly at
mosphere OF prison death and prison.
brutality there dubbed up the mellow
smile OF his genius-the smile born
Of ~heartache, Of shame. Of humiliation
the smile that has sent its ripple Of
faith and understanding to the hearts
or men and women everywhere.
When II first caught Billy Raider and
me, we cried outright. / think II was
about the proudest moment in o. Hen
rvs life. He had come into the prison
postoffice on a Friday afternoon. II
was Just about a fortnight after I had
offered to read him my MEMOIRS.
Porter Makes Convicts Weep.
Colonel, would you mind srOntinK me
an audience" he said in the bantering
formality. OF his way. "Td appreciate
the opinion of Q fellow s~tfuggler. /
have a little scrap here. I'd like to read
It to you me Billy"
Porter was usually so r~eticent, usually
the listener while others talked, that
she felt a warm surge Of pleasure when
ever he showed a disposition for con-
ftdence. Billy and | swerved about,
eager for the reading.
Porter sat on a high stool neal the
desk and carefully drew from his pocket
q roll of brown papers. He had writ
ten In a big, generous hand and there
was scarcely a scratch or an erasure
Of a single sheet.
From the moment that Porter's rich,
low, hesitant voice began, there was a
Lreathless suspense until suddenly Billy
Raidler, gulped and Porter looked up
as n aroused from n dream. Raider
grinned and jabbed his MANNED hand
into his eye.
Damn you, Porter, I never did it in
my life before; BY God, | didn't know
what n Tear lOOkeu tke,'
II was a funny thing to see train
robbers blubbering over the simple
story. ~
Perhaps the convict is over-senti-
mental, but the queer twist in Por- /
ters story just seemed to sneak into
warmth. "
Porter a Genius.
1t was The Christmas Chaparralr he
read TO us, Both Billy and | could nm !
derstand the feelings OF the COW |
puncher who had lost out in the WOO
ing OF the girl. We could feel his hot
the bride. We knew that Ne would
keep his promise-we knew he would
return to kill his rival.
n when he comes back on Christ /
Eve, dressed as a Santa Claus, |
armed to bring tragedy to the happy
his mood. He overhears the, wife saw
a word in his defense-he hears her |
praise the early kindness of his life
he walks up to h~er-"There's a Christ |
present In the next room for you"
ne says, n leaves the house without |
the husbands life.
Wei, the story is told as only O |
Henry can rough In the picture. Billy /
ana l could sec ourselves In the cow |
punchers place. We could feel our |
seLves respond 70 that stray beam OF
could feel III and Il brouSbt the
tears to our calloused old cheeks.
Porter sat there silent, pleased his
eyes aglow with happy satisfaction. Ne |
rolled up the manuscript and climbed
down from the stool.
Sentiemen, many thanks. I never
expected to win tears from experts Of |
your profession !" he said at last. And
then we all fell into q speculation ne
10 what the story should bring and
where we ought to send It. We felt
an interest In its fate. 1.-THE Long Rid |
we're &forrot lts mi IA buckets S,aS Of blood
Christmas Chaparral." With the fer
yor OF hero worshippers, Rairler and /
acknowledEed Bill Porter, the genius.
Rejection Cause Of Spasm.
We decided to send the story to the
At this time q cultured Frenchman. a
banker from New Orleans. Though his
sister. Porter's stories, bearing the
New Orleans address, were sent TO the
When THE Christmas chaparrar,
was sent out, Billy and / could hardly
walt for the weeks to 20 by. We were
sure Y would be accepted at once, AT
least S7S was the price we thought il
ought to bring. II came bach.
Years later I peddled my W story
from editor to editor. Never did | feel
me angry ,spasm of disappointment
story was rejected.
know h a he, too. wal filled with a
bitter regret. He had counted on the
money. We wanted to send a little
present te his daughter, Margaret. Now
2 would nave TO walt. II cut him to
the QUICK this failure OF his. as a faith
er.
But he said very little when Billy
handed him the package. We were 40
incensed against the publishers we
wanted him to blacklist them in the
future.
Colonel, the day may come when 7
can decline publication-at present I
don't seem to have the deciding voice"
And he went back to his desk and
wrote. He vent back TO the melan-
choly prison hospital, to the night pa
troll through the cell ranges, gathering
through the Q, Henry alchemy into
the sunny gold OF Ms stories. Many
OF these he read to us in the stolen
happiness Of Sunday afternoons at the
"Recleuse club"
Porter Made Head OF Club.
Porter was Q Bohemian in heart. In
soul. in temperament. Not the poser
Ne had neither sympathy nor kinahip
with the temperamental Quacke of the
artistic ~worid-but a Born original. He
loved freedom and unconventional so
ciebility, In this buoyant atmospher.
he could warm up, whisper out his
drollcrtes, forget, Even in the prison
the whimsical VaRabonA In him assert
ed itself. He founded the 'Recluse
club"
Six convicts, three of them bank rob-
hANg M fAr~Gr anA NkrA nnRn
made up Its membership. We met on
Sunday In the construction office. And
e q club In the highest stata Of
society had graver, brighter, happier