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In the distance, Meh the thinning leaves That here Theta lived, and for a et this whole crazy world But her world was just aselse he orried about He couldn’t do anything about that, and besides, he had answers to get, and so he hty-eighth Street that Me followed When he looked over his shoulder, he saw the hilance that they were plainclothes cops His heart raced, and he told himself to keep calm He had no slips on him He was fine Memphis picked up his pace So did thehi for an escape Along Central Park West, diggers were hollowing out the street for the neay line Could he hide down there? No, he’d be trapped for sure, and probably break a leg in the process But he ht be able to outrun the up the street, then darted out in front of it,the driver swerve and take up the boulevard,traffic He sprinted full-out for Central Park His lungs burned and his shoes clip-clopped loudly on the circuitous path ah trees and sharp black rocks, the sun dappling the path with little fool’s-gold pro, Me They were faster than they looked, but Memphis aimed to be even faster He chanced another look behind; he was losing theht in his chest He turned back around just in tie directly in his path, and the nurse’s expression of horror as she stood, transfixed, unable to get out of his way He had too much mo to a stop in the grass, banged and bruised and dazed His trousers were torn and bloodied at the knee Still, he staggered to his feet, ready to run But it was too late; thehi his arms behind his back

"What do we have here?" one cop gasped out, and Meot ourselves a numbers runner"

"Not me," Memphis said "No slips on me"

"Oh, yeah? What’s this in your pockets, then?" the other cop said He pulled a wad of slips from his own pocket and shoved them into Memphis’s

"I’d say there’s at least twenty-five slips there--enough for a judge to lock you up, boy"

"But those aren’t mine!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Memphis realized how stupid they were, how futile his protestations The word of thite cops against a Negro nuht

"Call Papa Charles," Meive you whatever you need"

"We don’t work for Papa Charles," one cop sneered, and Me don, friend"

The police car that had pulled up alongside the curb Behind hiton floating behind a scrie

A GOODLY HERITAGE

It was nearly four o’clock and the day’s shadows stretched long over the curved backs of the Catskills as Uncle Will took the turnoff fron for Brethren The road wound its way toward the valley, past a sn on its side The leaves had slipped into autues Down below, the sabled roofs, gas street lamps, and church steeples There was a quaintness to the town, as if it had been stopped in time around the turn of the century It was the sort of place about which politicians liked to wax nostalgic and hold up as a sy the country was in danger of losing

Then they’d driven north The roads were muddy and now they were considerably later than they’d e of town It was a rustic, cabinlike place with a large lot for cars and wagons Uncle Will rang the bell The proprietor, a man with a handlebar reeted theister as Mr John Smith and family, from Albany, and secured two rooms--one for Evie alone and one for him to share with Jericho

"Come for the county fair?" the innkeeper asked

"Why, yes We hear it’s the finest in New York," Will answered with a tight shter can’t wait to attend"