The Birmingham age-herald., 1922-12-17
Nell Brinkley Works at
 Home But Has No Studio
By HELEN LAWSON

Miss Nell Brinkiey," said the edi- tor of Circulation, will be at her home in New Rochelle at o'clock. I've called up Grand Central and found there11 be train at 2:15. As New Rochelle Is just 45 minutes from Broadway"
 Did you say daylight time or stan dard?" cut in the office boy. If you was to asst me-
 For once" said the editor to the journalist. T seem to have over looked something. You'd better get moving"
 So the journalist. saying. Leave that to me- sped on her way.
 Making Grand Central 8 minute and a half ahead of the train she was delayed at the gate by ten thousand word altercation between the gateman and passenger. The gateman. was shouting:
 Dye know whose gate you're on7 Y're on mine. Understand? Yer talkin' to me. Understan'? Me"
 However. the gateman's voice died in him when the passenger produced a pass showing that he was some sort of a railroad person ranking number of notehes ahead of the gate man, When the passenger was there upon bowed through the gate he said to the world:
 That gazebo had a whole mouth full to say till he recognized me When he seen he had went up against me-"
 The journalist found place in the last car and as the train roared out of the tunnel at One Hundred and Twenty fifth street began to get pieces of conversation from pair of women behind her.
 If my opinion were asked" said one of them
 "The view I take" said the other, 'is possibly unique with me- but ex- presses by conviction perfectly. As I told her. she must consider her self. Her husband and children may have a certain claim on her life but in creative work, one must have a courage above the conventions and inhibitions. So her husband Is not allowed in her studio. She--''
 When will her book be pub lished?'
 "she has not offered the manu- script yet. She has a philosophy"
 Ward, the bread kings son, had confessed to killing in New Roch ellie, so, when the train stopped there the place was overflowing with re- porters. The first two met with an- nounced that the detectives, local and special, were all running around in circles, but now that bunch of live newspapermen were on the job
 Miss Brinkley lives in gray shingled house under trees a few hundred yards from the heart of town.- It has no effect In gables. lawn furniture, sun parlors. or CO., lonial appurtenances. It Is just a good house. The porch Is enclosed In netting and contains two plain rockers. Morris chair and door mat. Miss Brinkley opened the door herself.
 Probably the women whose hus- band doesn't get into her studio wears a smock. Maybe she has bob bed hair by this time, and as she has philosophy 1t Is hard to see how she can write without flat heeled shoes.
 Has No Studio
 It is conceivable, but unlikely. that she would be able to understand why Miss Brinkley, who has gladdened the world for beyond dozen years with an art which is personal and joyous and sound. and fully ac- knowledged even by ten thousand helpless, hopeless imitators. has no studio. Yet such Is the melancholy fact,
 The journalist. imaginig of course that she had, asked to be shown it.
 She had been exhibiting the model of yacht made by somebody else explaining how true the proportions were, how the set of the rigging was right-from the standpoint of the in- flexible laws of mathematics-and how the man who made it-who doesn't pretend to be anybody espe- cially, and so has no studio or poured cement convictions-went to a great deal of trouble to have everything about the yacht model as right as he could make 1t as long as he was building yacht model.
 Studio? Oh, the, room I work in? Why, I do some of what do in here, And she led the way into the next room, which, like the first room, had no jazz in 1t. That is to say no eff fleets. No rare and radiant porcelains, brasses. magic carpets, harpsichords. malachftes, drinking skulls or art scenery whatever. It was just a room.
 The salient things in it were an or dinary carpet bearing no relationship to an ordinary table cover on a ta- ble on which a typewriter stood with an ordinary golden oak dining room chair drawn up to it; a row of ordi- nary sectional bookcases along wall; couple of comfortable chairs unrelated to any period styles and a l.--. t-- l.