Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Constitution
August 11^th, 1913

Coats off and collars and ties flung carelessly on bedposts and convenient chairs the twelve jurors in the Frank case and Deputies Foster Hunter and Bob Deavours, in charge of them, were taking a comfortable afternoon rest Sunday when suddenly a woman’s voice in a plaintive key called loudly from the street, “Oh, Bob, Bob Deavours!” The deputy leaped to his feet. He was certain he had heard his wife’s voice, and though the suite of rooms in the Kimball house where the jury is quartered three floors above the street, the voice came from a window.

The deputy rushed to the window and looked in vain. As he turned back to the room the gruff voice of a man repeated the call from the hall door, he rushed over there and flung the door open, only to hear the first voice call him from the other room.

By that time Deavours was thoroughly alarmed and several of the jurymen had leaped to their feet from the beds and cots on which they had been dreamily listening to F. E. Winburn toying with the piano keys.

Bumps His Head.

Deavours rushed into the room from which he had heard the final call and went so rapidly that he stumbled and bumped his head against a bedpost. He was trying to convince himself that there must have been something else besides ice water in that last pitcher that the bellboy had brought up when he noticed that the jurors and Deputy Hunter were convulsed with laughter and that one man not got off his comfortable position across a bed.

He looked at the man on the bed for an explanation and then a voice from a table in the middle of the room said, “Bob, oh, Bob, there’s one of these here ventriloquists sum’mers round here.”

The cause of all the trouble was A. H. Henslee, who bears the euphemistic tile of “Big Newt,” and who had hitherto concealed his ventriloquial powers from the others.

It was only when the fun had subsided and those who had been holding their sides as they laughed at the deputy, recovered from their mirth that the big lump on the side of the deputy’s head was noticed and then there was no one more assiduous in bathing it than was the man whose gift of voice had started the commotion.

The lump, however, proved to be only a cause of a few moments’ worry and the deputy spent the rest of an hour laughing at the joke played upon himself. [several words illegible] told it to the newspaperman Deavours declared that if the joke was ever published on him he would certainly study the art of throwing his voice, and would run the reporter out of the sheriff’s office some day with six imaginary bill collectors after him.

Holds Child in Arms.

Sunday was a quiet day with the jury. There had been only one cause of worry. That was the illness of M. Johenning’s little baby and Saturday night the juror had been allowed to hold the child in his arms and satisfy himself that it was fully recovered. It was the first time in two wees that he had seen it and his anxiety over its condition had been felt by every one of the others.

The monotony of the day of rest from seven hours a day in the jury box was relieved by Juror Winburn’s talent on the piano, which has been moved in the apartment, and by Bible reading by another juror.

In the afternoon Howard Smith, son of Juror F. V. L. Smith, arrived with a baker’s dozen of cup custards, more than enough slices of lemon pie to go around and what the jurors all declared was the best home-made candy ever tasted. It was the gift of Mrs. Smith and no dainties of a housewife were ever more enjoyed and appreciated.

Sunday night, shortly after supper, Deputies Charles Huber and A. F. Pennington, who relieved the other two deputies, took the jurors for a long walk, as has been the custom every evening when the weather permitted.

Not one of the men whom jury duty has confined for a fortnight now, has suffered the least discomfiture from the trying habits enforced upon them and all of them are in the best of spirits. A sort of fellowship has sprung up that has cemented the twelve and made them fast friends and they know each other and the deputies in charge of them by their first names or nicknames, for not a one of the jurors has been slighted by his fellows in the matter of a title and they range from “Judge Roan” to “Big Newt.”

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Atlanta Constitution, August 11th 1913, “Jurors Have a Great Time Playing Jokes on Deputies,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Journal
August 11^th, 1913

Sunday apparently brought reflection and repentance to one aspiring member of the Frank juror, while three others after due consideration of the heat and other things, spent a part of their $2 per day.

Juror Townsend, who has been carefully cultivating a most aspiring and sprouting young mustache, had the first opportunity in seven days to inspect it. After deliberating over its ultimate destiny for the greater part of Sunday, he evidently repented, for when he appeared in the court room Monday morning the thin, dark cloud topping his lips was gone.

Three other jurors grew tired of living without expenditure and drawing $2 a day for the task, and seeing some extremely neat looking white suits marked down, purchased a number. This happened last week, but they wished to wear the suits a day in order to become accustomed to them before they appeared in public, so the first formal appearance was made Monday morning. None of the new suits was of the “side slit” variety.

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Atlanta Journal, August 11th 1913, “Sunday Proves Day of Meditation for Four Frank Jurors,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Georgian
August 11^th, 1913

Big Bob Deavors, Deputy Sheriff in charge of the Frank trial jury, marched to the courtroom Monday morning with an aching head and a grim determination to get even with Juror A. H. Henslee, whose elusive voice piloted him against a bedpost late Sunday evening.

Henslee is a ventriloquist of no mean ability, and when the jury has been locked up Sunday his talent has afforded the principal pastime. Yesterday he worked on Deavors, the deputy. He had Bob’s wife calling to him from the street, the hall door and finally from the door leading into another room. It was through this last door that Deavors broke and encountered the head of a bed with the full weight of his big frame.

An impromptu piano concert Sunday afternoon by Juror F. E. Winburn, a stroll under guard late Sunday evening and the feats of ventriloquism broke the monotony of what would have been a listless day.

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Atlanta Georgian, August 11th 1913, “Deputy Hunting Scalp of Juror-Ventriloquist,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Journal
August 10^th, 1913

Court Bailiff Charles F. Huber, Who Guards Body in Hotel at Night, Spends Hours in Search of Mysterious Female Voice Which Disrupts His Peace — Deder Townsend Improves His Time While Shut Off From World by Growing Mustache

There are a few pastimes almost as enjoyable as being a juror—such as spending a short vacation in jail, or floating around on the bosom of the deep blue ocean without an oasis in night, for example. The latter diversions have their advantages. In jail a man usually can receive and talk to any callers that happen to drop in, and on the sea he could talk to them if they were present — which is comforting. But on a jury he can’t do either. He has got to forget his past and his future and his present for the time being and devote himself exclusively to the business of being a juror. His mind is not be burdened with mundane things.

The jurors in the Frank trial are having a harder time than any others previously recruited in Atlanta—about two weeks harder. When they get through they will be the champion marathon jurors of the whole south.

A lot of interesting fiction could be written about the Frank jury. There is a good opening for an enterprising enthusiastic young fiction writer. He could dope out a lot of interesting plots which might be received with acclaim by the magazine-consuming public.

For instance, he could write a story on the Enoch Arden style—only with a happy ending about the return to his home of Juror No. 7. He could have the juror come in, be received joyfully by his good wife after properly identifying himself, go into the bath room, and find his razor all nicked up. Thus the plot would thicken and the story return until it ended by Mrs. Juror No. 7, explaining that little Willie, who was expected shortly after the deputy sheriff served pa with a subpoena to come to court, had grown up during Papa’s absence and used the razor for his first shave.

This is only one of a number of thrilling plots which might be conceived.

Fortunately, nothing very far out of the ordinary has happened to the Frank jurors either individually or collectively. They have been unable to collect debts but, on the other hand, they have escaped collectors. So it is a stand off. True, one insurance agent did succeed in getting a policy signed up, but then, they are not deterred by anything, these insurance solicitors. They would be present probably on the deep blue ocean, too—or, in jail.

HUBER HUNTS VOICE.

The principal trouble that the Frank jurors have had is in amusing themselves. After a few days they got permission to read magazines (properly inspected first by deputy sheriffs) and then they were given a plane in their rooms. Thus equipped they haven’t had such a disagreeable time of it. Books and music, however, do not form their only means of amusement. Not by any means of reports to the outside are referred. The twelve Frank jurors did just like any other twelve men in the world, thrown together like they are, would do. They devoted a part of their leisure time to practical jokes. And the time passed quicker.

The jurors usually smoke their goodnight cigar and climb into their various beds about 9:30 or 10 o’clock. A few nights ago, a night when one of these practical jokes was sprung, they got into their twelve suits of pajamas as usual and retired.

They left Court Bailiffs Charles F. Huber and A. F. Pennington on guard in different rooms.

Everything went along as usual for about an hour. That is to say the jurors all dropped off to sleep, and the snores of twelve men took the place of bantering, singing and story telling.

Bailiff Huber was sitting quietly near the door of the room he was watching. He was propped up in a chair which was tilted against the wall. He was steeped in thought, judging from his sphinx-like attitude.

Suddenly, though, all was action.

“O, Mr. Huber, O, Mr. Huber,” came in a tense feminine tone from the door at his side. “Open the door quick.” Huber opened the door enough to stick his head out and look into the hall. It was empty! “Funny,” he thought to himself as he resumed his seat. “I’d would have sworn I heard a voice.” The bailiff just got seated again when the voice came from a door at the other side of the room, one leading into another apartment where there were more jurors.

“Now I wonder,” muttered Mr. Huber to himself, “how that woman got into that room. He made it across the floor in nothing flat. An apartment with twelve jurors in it is no place for a woman!”

FINDS ROOM EMPTY.

Mr. Huber opened the door wide. Imagine his astonishment when he found nobody. A moonbeam struggled in through the window and threw a weird spot on the carpet directly at his feet. There was the regular breathing of sleeping men—and nothing more. It was uncanny. Mr. Huber stood still and wondered for about two minutes. He concluded that he must have dozed off in his chair and dreamed he heard a voice. But it was funny. It had never happened to him before!

Then it came a third time. “O, Mr. Huber, come quick!” You couldn’t fool Huber this time. He knew right where this woman was. She was on the fire escape just outside the window. He crossed the room, pushed up the sash and looked out. There was nobody there. No matter, though, she probably went up the little iron ladder to the next floor. It was a plot to get him out of the room maybe. But it wouldn’t work. No, sir.

Mr. Huber went over and sat down. He was perfectly sure of himself now. If anybody wanted to get him out of that room they would have to come in and drag him out. No woman was going to entice him up a fire escape. He sat there with his hand nearest the pocket which contained his revolver for probably fifteen minutes. At the end of that time Bailiff Huber concluded that the enemy had abandoned the plan of enticing him off.

Suddenly—it sounds preposterous—he heard the voice again. And this time it came from another window in the room where there was no fire escape. Mr. Huber let the voice run on a good long while before he moved this time. He wanted to be sure of his ground. The voice grew louder, more imploring. Bailiff Huber finally got up and went to the window. He found just exactly what he expected to find—nothing.

Court Bailiff Huber, detailed to watch the Frank jury at night, walked around the room all the rest of the night with his gun in his hand, according to a reliable source of information.

He didn’t learn until next morning that A. H. Henslee, who sits at the extreme right of the jury box in the front row, is a ventriloquist.

TOWNSEND GROWS MOUSTACHE.

Juror Deder Townsend, who sits in the front row in the fourth seat from the left of the box, is improving his time since he has severed his worldly connections. He is engaged in the interesting occupation of growing a moustache. There are a number of things on his upper lip that looks like this IIIII They are hairs. The whole jury seems proud of the crop.

Mr. Townsend’s moustache is blond. At this stage of the game it is impossible to tell whether it will curl up or down and, owing to the fact that he cannot be interviewed it cannot be stated what his intentions are for it.

Deputy Sheriff Plennie Miner is in a quandry. Almost his whole force of bailiffs wants to get off next week to go to camp meeting. Nearly every one of his subordinates has come to him with a request for a few days off then. And more bailiffs are needed at the Frank trial than any other criminal action in Atlanta’s history. There are a number of bailiffs that will go to the meeting, which is to be held at Ben Hill—but there is a larger number who won’t. The main trouble is choosing the lucky ones.

Mr. Plennie Miner has a bright idea, too. It is one that has made him immensely popular with the press. He is planning a big fish fry near the Chattahoochee river on the first Saturday afternoon after the Frank trial closes. He is going to invite the judge, the lawyers on both sides, the jury, all the court attaches and the newspaper men who have been working on the trial. Besides the fish there will be chicken and something to wash it down with. You can’t say anything about Plennie Miner before a reporter these days!

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Atlanta Journal, August 10th 1913, “Playing Practical Jokes on Watchful Bailiffs is Pastime of Frank Jurors,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Georgian
August 10^th, 1913

By L. F. WOODRUFF

Eleven widows were made in Atlanta in a day without the assistance of the Grim Reaper, a trip to Reno, pallbearers or affinity stories in the newspapers.

And there is but one drop of consolation in their cup. When they were made widows they automatically became peeresses, for which privilege many American girls have caused their fathers large sums of good American money and themselves heartache and their pictures to be printed between the story of the rabbit that chased the boa constrictor and the life narrative of Sophie, the Shop Girl, who in a night became a stage star.

They also had the satisfaction of having their husbands officially proclaimed good men and true, which they may have questioned when the pay envelope was brought home with $10 missing and unaccounted for, just as all wives have questioned.

They’ll Be Brides Again.

If there is any balm in it, the widows know that it will not be long before they can doff their weeds and once more don their bridal gowns. Their husbands will return to them just as soon as they have decided whether or not Leo Frank is guilty of the murder of Mary Phagan.

For it is due to the fact that their husbands are jurors that Atlanta had eleven widows made in a day, that eleven peeresses were added to Atlanta’s list and that eleven wives had the glory of hearing their husbands called “good” without suspecting there was hidden meaning in the compliment.

The peerage and the official compliment as to character and $2 a day are the emoluments of a juror of Georgia. A juror in the Frank case gets a little more. He gets his keep, a place to sleep, and a deputy sheriff to keep him out of trouble, read his letters, inspect his laundry and keep him company during all his waking hours.

Scant Solace for Widows.

The emoluments are considerable, but how about the widows?

Men must work and women must weep to the tuneful accompaniment of the doleful mourning of the harbor bar is the first thought.

But there is some solace in the lot of the eleven Frank case widows.

Not every woman can know the thrill of widowhood and at the same time have absolute assurance that she is not going to remain in single blessedness the rest of her life.

And then there’s no disputing the fact that they are peeresses. A juror is given his coronet when he takes his oath of office. Of course, in a criminal case he is usually paid the doubtful compliment of being termed the peer of a safe cracker, a short change artist, a blind tiger operator, or a gentleman skilled in the art of getting good money on bad paper, but just the same the juror is a peer. And just the same Mrs. Juror is a peeress.

Only One Single Juror.

In the rapid selection of the Frank jury, it was remarkable that but one single man was selected to decide a mystery that has puzzled the master minds of the Atlanta detective bureau for more than three months. The State probably wanted married men, who would sympathize with the mother robbed of a daughter’s life. The defense probably wanted married men who would sympathize with the wife of the accused and his mother. Single men are supposed to be as lacking in the natural supply of the milk of human kindness as a laughing hyena. The single man on the jury looks like he’s married. Probably that’s why he was accepted by both sides.

And when they held up their right hands and swore to “well and truly try, etc.” without objection to the split infinitive, the eleven “good men and true” were as completely divorced as if the judge had ordered them to pay alimony and had forbidden another marriage in a year’s time.

The divorce pro tem. has been absolute. The widows cannot speak with their husbands. Nobody else can for that matter except a court attache.

Deputy Reads All Mail.

Writing them is practically prohibited. Every letter mailed a juror has to be read by a deputy sheriff and properly censored by him before it reaches the eyes of the trial man.

And what wife would like to call her beloved “snooky” and have a deputy sheriff first assimilate the tenderness of the term? What wife would like to write for $8.67 to pay the butcher bill and have a deputy sheriff become thus acquainted with the condition of the family larder and the connubial purse?

She may kiss the clean collar when she sends it to him every day, but what assurance has she that he will not think that the Chinaman has bungled in his work?

She may send him a pair of freshly darned socks, but how does she know that the deputy will not see a mysterious message in the needle work, and appropriate the hosiery to his own pedal purposes?

No, there are eleven new widows in Atlanta, but there is no doubt but there are eleven new peeresses. The only trouble is, no one can marry any of them for their titles.

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Atlanta Georgian, August 10th 1913, “Phagan Trial Makes Eleven ‘Widows’ But Jurors Wives are Peeresses Also,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Georgian
August 10^th, 1913

Every Man on Panel Has Nickname and Formality Has Been Cast Out.

No member of the jury that is to decide Leo M. Frank’s guilt or innocence had expressed an opinion on the case or even one witness’ testimony when the second week of the trial ended yesterday afternoon, according to the deputies who have them in charge.

In the court it is an attentive jury. No bit of evidence gets by unnoticed, no wrangle occurs between the attorneys that is not given their undivided attention, and when a person testifies they catch every word—knowing the formal charge that will come from the judge. “You are to believe all of it, or any part of it, or if you see fit so to do take the word of the defendant, who is not under oath.”
Out of the court it is altogether a different kind of a jury. Probably it is that its members hear enough of the case during “business hours” and are glad to discuss topics that do not bring in the possibility of weighing a man’s life. But not one member of the jury has at any time expressed any opinion. If there is one, it is carefully guarded, but those who have watched the faces during the two weeks said yesterday that it was a jury that was still open to conviction.

The formal “good-morning, Mr. —,” has been abandoned for the more jovial “howdy-do,” and every member has a nickname. Friday morning each member came from the hotel with a tiny white flower on his coat. They were the gift from the wife of a newlywed, who would not be on the jury if Judge Roan had listened to his excuses.

Saturday afternoon and Sunday are the days that are really tiresome. They are allowed to communicate with no one, and, save a morning and afternoon unconstitutional, are not permitted to venture from the three rooms assigned them. Last week the attorneys consented for them to purchase magazines, or any reading matter, to be censored by the Sheriff, and, with exception of this diversion, a juryman on a two or three week trial has anything but the finest position in Atlanta.

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Atlanta Georgian, August 10th 1913, “Case Never is Discussed by Frank Jurors,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Constitution
August 4^th, 1913

Quiet Sunday for Twelve Jurors

By Vernon Stiles.

As completely cut off from knowledge of the happenings of the outside world as though they were marooned in an island of the South seas, and yet tantalized by the swirling life around them, twelve men have lived for the past week in the heart of Atlanta. Their days has been spent in a crowded courtroom, where they listened to the wrangle of lawyers and the more or less conflicting statements of the witnesses, and their nights have passed in three crowded rooms behind locked doors, where the tiny iron beds give the place grim and bare aspect of a hospital ward.

Before them during the day is always the sight of a man whom they will be asked to brand as the vilest criminal of Georgia’s history, and whom they will also be asked to liberate and free from the stigma that even the state’s charge against him now places on his name.

Tragedy Always Present.

In their mind’s eye is always the vision of that dark factory basement, of the little girl, victim of some fiend. The story of that morning in the basement when the child’s body was found has been described to the jurymen in the uncouth and yet striking and picturesque words of the night watchman who found the body and in the clearer language of the white men who followed Newt Lee’s call that morning.

Outside the courtroom they know that a mother sits, praying that the God above will lead His people here to find out the real murderer and follow the laws that were first written on stone tablets—take the life of the slayer for that of his victim.

By the side of the man whom they must judge sit two women—wife and mother—the persons closer than any others to him. With the wonderful love and unreasoning belief that the great Maker of the universe has put into womankind, they can see only one thing.

To them the awful deed pales into insignificance beside the charge against the husband and son, and they can never see that there is the slightest suspicion for the state’s charges which are now being investigated with a view to clearing the man if the evidence does not show him guilty, and of convincing him if the results of the trial point without a reasonable doubt to that end.

Despite the tragedy that stares into the faces of the twelve jurors which might seem enough to break their health, the men seem to live, outside of the courtroom and despite the confining quarters, the ordinary life of other men.

Acquire New Friendships.

Laughter and jokes pass away the time, and gradually the men have come to know each other and to acquire friendships some of which are due to prove of lasting qualities.

Although the jurors passed Sunday, a long and tiresome day—probably the longest Sunday of their lives—they referred little to the days in the courtroom and seemed to follow the orders of the judge when he told them to keep their minds clear until all the evidence had been submitted.

Life goes on in the close sleeping quarters of the jurymen as life will go on in any place, be it the crowded tenement district of New York, or the little cabin home on the coast of Georgia, with the nearest neighbor a mile away and the front yard sweeping out miles before the vision to the endless expanse of the broad Atlantic.

Without making the open agreement in regard to their evenings during the past week the men strove to amuse each other and the spirit of man to man sought out its comrades.

“These fellows are just as full of fellowship and fun with each other as though they’d been reared together,” is the way in which Deputy Foster Hunter described the men who were in his care Sunday.

How Men Spent Sunday.

The words of the deputy who had been with them the greater part of the day were simple and spoken with no particular thought of the wonderful trait of humanity, the saving trait of humanity that they described, but when one thinks of the real meaning behind that description, one sees into the real depths of the men who must decide the fate of Leo M. Frank.

The deputy then went on to describe the way in which the men had spent Sunday. They had stayed within the confines of the three-room suite at the Kimball house during the day, except for an hour after dinner, when he sat with them on the narrow veranda overlooking the street, while the jurymen watched with covetous eyes the passing flow of humanity, the coming and going of motor vehicles, the rattle of Atlanta’s cabs and the smoke that boiled and belched as some train pulled out of the depot, its engineer watching the track before him as the line of cars headed for some far-distant city where other lives moved and swept by in the hurry of life.

Sometimes the jurymen cracked jokes as a new automobile came by, its woodwork shining with the glisten that shows fresh paint and newness, and one man would call to another to “come and see what’s been invented since we’ve been locked up.”

For recreation the jurymen played cards and other games, as their individual desires prompted. Dominoes and setback, with maybe a poker game or two (though the deputy didn’t mention poker), proved the games that helped most to pass the hours away.

Magazines and books are plentiful in the large room which serves as a sort of living room and some of the men spent part of their time in reading.

Every Man Has Nickname.

That not all of the time has been spent in reading or paying games is shown by the spirit of comradeship that has been developed among the men on the jury.

‘Why those fellows know the entire history of every other man and they’ve quit calling each other by their ordinary names,’ said Deputy Hunter.

Every man in the crowds got a nickname and its against the rule to call him by anything else. There’s one fellow been married just four months and they call him ‘Bride’ and here the deputy broke off to chuckle at the thought of the newlywed and the many good natured jokes he had heard flung at him.

And there’s another man there they call Starnes. He’s M. Johenning the juryman with the mustache and rather thin face. They all decided he looked like Detective Starnes, who’s been working on the case.

And there’s Judge Roan and Luther without the Roar, called Luther. Without for short and an even dozen in all.

The jurymen took life easy Sunday. They arose rather early and took their baths and donned fresh linen sent from home and then had their breakfast. A couple of bell boys brought in a long table that is kept in the hall and waiters spread the meal out before the prisoner guests.

Take Long Walk in Evening.

That was the way in which each meal was served and after the supper the jurymen were taken for a long walk in the cool of the evening.

While the men are on jury duty there is very little communication that they can have with their families or with their business associates. They may write and receive letters but a deputy must read and O.K. each one before the juryman sends out his mail or reads that which comes to him.

Day by day the same routine goes on until there is hardly a wonder at the action of the juryman who followed the deputy to the door when he answered the reporter’s knock and said, ‘But for goodness sake tell me what is happening in the outside world.’

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Atlanta Constitution, August 4th 1913, “Every Man on Frank’s Jury Gets ‘Nickname’ for Trial,” Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Georgian
August 4^th, 1913

By L. F. WOODRUFF.

A policeman’s life is not a merry one. The thought was expressed and event set to music in those dim days of the distant past when people heard the lyrics and listened to the charming lilts of Gilbert and Sullivan opera instead of centering their attentions on a winsome young woman with a record in the divorce courts and not much else in either ability or raiment.

Gilbert and Sullivan, now being tradition, can be considered authorities. Wherefore the thought is repeated that a policeman’s life is not a merry one.

But there are twelve Fulton county men who will say that he went too far in his statement in one way and didn’t come within a mile of approaching the mark in another.

For after the sergeant sings “a policeman’s life is not a merry one,” the chorus of constabulary cants, “ta ran ta ra, ta ran ta ra,” which sounds rather joyous.

The Jurors Dissent.

And the jurors with whom the fate of Leo Frank rests believe there is no more joy in the work which is imposed as part of their duty as citizens of Fulton County than there is in a crutch to a man unaccustomed to using that method of transportation.

They would like to be included in the category of those persons whose existence is as far removed from the paths of primrose as pole is from pole, but they would voice violent protest against any ta ran ta ra’s.

There is much justice in their position and their claims to a place high on the list of martyrs to the sacred cause of duty.

An English humorist wrote of a young man who kept a diary and abandoned the pursuit when for three days this entry was repeated: “Got up, washed, went to bed,” He reasonably figured that his existence was entirely too colorless to necessitate recording.

Mostly Monotony, Their Days.

The members of the Frank jury are in much the same position. They merely get up, wash and go to bed, with just the added duty of sitting through hour after hour of legal battling that has only its brief periods of interest. They are as securely cut off from the rest of the world as they would be were they locked in Fulton County’s Tower, and for this they are paid by the State of Georgia the munificent sum of $2 a day, that does not go far toward the purchase of the family corn meal and cabbage in these days when certain persons find it hard to live on a salary of $12,000 a year.

Here’s about the daily routine of the men whose duty it is to decide the most perplexing mystery that has ever confronted the law enforcing powers of the city of Atlanta.

They are quartered together in the Kimball House, and they are guarded as closely from the intrusion of outsiders as the foulest felon in a Georgia convict camp.

They all arise about 7 o’clock, for they have to dine together and there is no necessity of one’s awakening before the last. They are shackled together by the orders of the court as firmly as if a convict chain was fastened on the wrist of each.

They eat their meals at the German Cafe, in Pryor street. The county does not stint them. Judge Roan has given orders that they be given every reasonable luxury.

On their way to their meals they are under close guard. A deputy leads them. A deputy acts as a rear guard. Deputies flank them on either side.

Their One Dissipation.

After breakfast they are allowed to take a walk—still under guard. This walk is their most rakish amusement. And on this walk they are taken up back streets, where they can see nobody and nobody can see them. Imagine an Atlantan of this good year of 1913 getting his amusement strolling through a section as interesting as a glass of stale water the morning after, and always conscious that if a friend should happen to say “hello,” he would be under dire suspicion of having arranged a secret code in which “hello” meant anything from “$200,000 if you acquit” or your wife will quit you if you acquit.”

After this stroll they wend their way to the courtroom. They are seated before the spectators enter. The court orders all the spectators to remain seated until they file out at recess.

The courtroom is not the most pleasant summer resort in the world. Atlanta has been in the throes of a hot spell constantly since the opening of the trial, and then hundreds of humans are packed in a space where only scores should be. The result is that the ventilation of the courtroom is bad. The atmosphere is oppressive.

Still the jurors seem to be bearing the ordeal bravely. There is always a look of relief on their faces when the court orders recess.

As the audiences sits, their guard of deputies forms and they file out, straight to the restaurant. When the noonday meal is concluded, there is a chance for brief relaxation. The jurors make most of it.

The same performance is gone through with in the afternoon. When adjournment for the day is taken, the members of the panel are taken to the hotel, where they bathe and don clean linen. Then they are either taken out for a walk or allowed to postpone that pleasure until after their supper.

Bed is the Exciting Climax.

When bedtime comes they are usually fairly well ready for the mattress.

That is their day, and there is a reward of $2 for those services coming to them at the end of the trial, whenever that is.

“What are their amusements?” Chief Deputy Plennie Minor, who is one of their most serious guardians, was asked.

Minor smiled. “I don’t know that they have any. They talk among themselves, but they are not allowed to read any newspaper, by strict order of the court. A few carefully-censored magazines were doled out to them for Sunday recreation.

“They smoke a good deal; and, well, they talk pretty much all the time.

“No one is allowed to communicate with them in any way. Every letter they receive has to be inspected by someone from our office before the juror can read it,” he said.

Aaccordingly [sic], the jurors get few letters, even though they are married men as a rule. A wife would hardly like to have a deputy peruse the intimate secrets of family life, nor be made familiar with the pet names reserved alone for her husband.

“Even their linen is examined to see that there is no note of communication is enclosed,” said Miner.

These precautions are absolutely necessary. They are as necessary for the protection of the juror as they are to the assurance of a fair and honest trial.

The court is not trying to be severe. It is simply trying to preserve the integrity of the laws of Georgia.

Small wonder then that there are men who seek to evade jury duty by failing to qualify as an elector, who hide their names from the directory compilers, who serve in the militia to escape possibility of having to do the work that these twelve men are doing.

There is absolutely nothing to make the work one to relish. The judge, the lawyers, the detectives, the witnesses, all are more or less in the coveted spotlight. It is doubtful if there is a man in Atlanta not intimately connected with the case who could name the twelve men on the jury.

They are not professional jurors, who seek the $2 a day because they are incapable of making that much money as easily in any other way.

They are doing this work with a sense of duty to their city, county and State. Their reward must be only a realization of a duty well done.

Small wonder they do not class their lives as merry ones. Small wonder that they wish no ta ran ta ra’s.

* * *

The Atlanta Georgian, August 4th 1913, “Envy Not the Juror! His Lot, Mostly, Is Monotony,” The Leo Frank case newspaper article series (Original PDF)

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Journal
August 2^nd, 1913

Members of Frank Jury Can Not Communicate With Members of Family and Can Read No Newspapers, Not Even Baseball

How does it feel to be shut up with eleven other men for one week, maybe two, possibly three? How does it feel to be the midst of a city and not of it, quarantined from the wife and children just a few blocks away, from business, from let[t]ers, from newspapers, from everything except six hours of daily testimony on a murder case?

Nobody knows except the Frank jurymen, and they can’t tell you, for you won’t be allowed to talk to ’em.

For five days and five nights their only companionship has been each other, all they had to do was eat and sleep and hear testimony. And by this time, they are probably worrying.

Sunday comes. No murder trial to hear, but the same strict surveillance to undergo. They will be guarded as carefully as ever, perhaps taken for a little walk some time during the day, but no visit home, no word from their loved ones, no news of what the world is doing.

As careful a watch is being maintained over the Frank jury as any jury ever experienced. Not a single communication is allowed to be seen by a single member unless it is first censored.

The other day it was necessary for one member of the jury to sign an insurance policy. It was scrutinized by the lawyers as if it had been a faded replica of the code of Justinian, but nowhere could these lights of the Atlanta bar find any insurance phrase that might possibly influence that juryman for or against Leo M. Frank. They let him sign it.

When the first of the month ar[r]ived, Deputy Plennie Minor says that there were many requests that the jurymen be allowed to sign pay rolls and attend to other business matters.

Eleven of these twelve good men and true, moreover, are married. Some of them have children. It is just as hard on the wives and kiddies as it is on the fathers and husbands. But while the youngsters can see pictures of papa in the papers and know what he is doing, papa himself ignorant of how things are going with his little sons and daughters. He knows only that they are all right, and will be waiting for him when the trial is over.

But even the adversities of a juryman has its joys. There are no collectors knocking at the juryman’s door and of course it is all right with him if the counsel for the defense objects to the juryman being worried by all those first-of-the-month bills.

Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.

Atlanta Georgian
August 2^nd, 1913

Newspaper on Judge’s Desk Causes Protest

DR. HURT UNDER FIRE OF DEFENSE, HITS A DR. HARRIS TESTIMONY

A genuine sensation was sprung at the trial of Leo M. Frank Saturday morning when Luther Rosser and Reuben Arnold, attorneys for the defense, asked the State to consent to a new trial on the ground that Judge Roan had allowed the jury to catch a glimpse of a headline in the first extra of The Georgian.

Judge Roan had laid the paper on the stand in front of him, and, according to the defense, the headline across the first page could be read by the men in the jury box.

The headline said: “State Adding Links to Chain.”

The defense’s lawyers went into immediate conference with the judge, and a few minutes later asked Solicitor Dorsey to consent to a new trial. The Solicitor refused.

Rosser Asks Explanation.

Rosser and Arnold then came into the courtroom and asked that the jury be withdrawn.

Rosser addressed the court:

“Your honor inadvertently displayed a newspaper when you came in just now. One side was turned up with large red letters reading: ‘State Adding Links to Chain.’ Every member of the jury read it. I saw them leaning forward to see it.

“We don’t want to make a motion for a new trial, but we want this jury called back and such explanation made by your honor as will eliminate any harm that might have been done by the jury seeing this paper.”

Solicitor Dorsey Objects.

Dorsey objected to Rosser’s request of Judge Roan.

“I object to your honor making an explanation as to an isolated instance,” said Dorsey. “It is only fair to the State to call that jury back and ask if it had seen any newspaper. It is only fair to the State to tell that jury that this objection of protest was registered by the defense. The jury must have seen newspapers on the streets in going to and from the hotel that had headlines in them eminently unfair to the State’s case. I will ask your honor to explain the matter fully to the jury.”

Judge Roan heatedly said: “Call the jury back and I will tell it what I see fit.”

Attorney Rosser during the Solicitor’s speech spoke in undertones, threatening a mistrial if the prosecution’s request was granted.

Judge Warns Jury.

Judge Roan said to the jury when the tribunal had been returned to the jury box:

“Gentlemen of the jury, this is an important case. You will have to be extremely cautious and extremely careful. You are to try this case from the evidence and from nothing else. It has been suggested that you have been able to se[e] some headlines or some writings in the newspaper which may have influenced you in your judgment on this case. I desire to tell you that you are the ones trying this case, and I desire to warn you again that nothing you see in the newspapers on the streets or in the courtroom should have nay influence upon you either in respect to the case of the State or that of the defense. Let the case proceed.”

The [e]xamination of witnesses proceeded.

The defense rallied sharply Saturday in a vigorous impressive attack on the sensational testimony of Dr. H. F. Harris, who declared Friday afternoon that Mary Phagan was killed within a half-hour after she ate dinner April 26, and that she came to her death by strangulation.

From one of the State’s own witnesses, Dr. J. W. Hurt, County Physician, Reuben Arnold obtained the important admission that the time it takes to digest cabbage depends on the individual and that the only way to determine with certainty if strangulation is the cause of death is by an examination of the lungs. He admitted the lungs were not examined.

Attacking the testimony of Dr. Harris, who collapsed while testifying on the stand Friday, Arnold asked the witness if Dr. Harris’ statement that Mary Phagan had come to her death within a half hour of the time she ate her noon meal was not the wildest sort of a guess. Harris had based his conclusions on the fact that the cabbage he had found in her stomach had undergone only the slightest digestion.

“Is it not true that cabbage is one of the hardest foods to digest and that the average time required to digest it is from 3 1-2 to 4 hours?” asked Attorney Arnold.

Dr. Hurt replied that he thought this was so.

No Proof in Cabbage.

Arnold then showed the specimens of cabbage taken from the stomach of the murdered girl, and called attention to the fact that if it had not even been masticated, and that therefore it might have been in her stomach for several hours before she was killed.

Dr. Hurt accompanied this statement by the one, equally vital, that no examination was every made of the murdered girl’s lungs. From this testimony the defense will be able to argue that the State had no substantial foundation for its charge that the girl was strangled to death.

Arnold also forced Dr. Hurt reluctantly to admit that it was impossible for him to state positively either that the blow on the back of Mary Phagan’s head had produced unconsciousness or that, on the other hand, it might not have been the actual cause of her death.

State Adds to Chain.

The State Saturday continued to strengthen the web of circumstantial evidence in which it seeks to enmesh Frank by preparing to introduce additional testimony showing Mary Phagan arrived at the National Pencil Factory at 12:05 or before.

As the case stood Saturday morning, these are the strong links in the State’s case:

Mary Phagan left her home at 11:45, according to her mother, after having eaten some cabbage.

The girl arrived at the factory between 12:05 and 12:10, according to Frank’s own statement before the Coroner’s jury.

Monteen Stover looked into Frank’s office between 12:05 and 12:10 and says he was not there.

Dr. H. F. Harris, Secretary of the State Board of Health, testifies that the condition of the cabbage taken from the girl’s stomach shows conclusively that she died within about half an hour after it was eaten. This would make the time of death about 12:10—a few minutes before or after.

Claims Negro Is Eliminated.

Mrs. Arthur White testifies that when she left the factory at about 1 o’clock a negro, presumably Conley, was sitting on a box on the first floor. This, according to the State, eliminates the negro as the slayer, because, according to its expert evidence, the girl must have been killed some time before that.

The defense’s attack on all this testimony and reasoning was expected to be spirited and bitter, and until it has been made it is impossible to determine how much weight testimony like Dr. Harris’ purporting to fix almost to the minute the time it takes to digest cabbage will have with the jury.

Helen Ferguson, a companion of Mary Phagan and an employee of the […]

CORONER’S PHYSICIAN DAMAGES HARRIS’ EVIDENCE FOR STATE

Dr. Hurt Says That Undigested Cabbage Does Not Prove Time of Death

EXPERT FOUND NO SKULL FRACTURE; SURE GIRL WAS STRANGLED TO DEATH

[…] factory, was the first witness to be called when court resumed Saturday morning. The greatest crowd of the week besieged the courthouse clamoring for admission.

Pay Refused.

Solicitor Dorsey examined Miss Ferguson.

Witness said she was an employee of the factory.

Q. Were you at work at the factory Friday, April 25?—A. Yes.

Q. Did you work that day or just go there?—A. I went to the office about 10 o’clock.

Q. What conversation did you have there?—A. I asked for Mary Phagan’s money and was told that I could not get it. I talked to Mr. Frank.

Q. Did you ever get her pay before?—A. Yes, but not from Mr. Frank.

Rosser took the witness on cross-examination.

Q. Did you know who paid off?—A. No.

Q. Did you ever get Mary Phagan’s money from Mr. Frank?—A. No.

Q. Did you work in the metal department with Mary?—A. Yes.

Says Frank Wrung Hands.

Attorney Rosser raised an objection to Wagoner on account of his having been in the courtroom for twenty minutes Wednesday. Wagoner stated that he had heard nothing and Judge Roan allowed him to testify.

Q. Where were you Tuesday, April 29?—A. Across the street from the National Pencil Factory.

Q. What did you see?—A. I saw Frank come to the window, wringing his hands and looking down. He did it about a dozen times.

Q. Was he nervous or composed?—A. Nervous.

Q. Were yo in the automobile when he was taken to the police station?—A. Yes.

Q. Was he nervous?—A. Yes. His leg was next to mine. It shook very much.

Rosser took the witness on cross-examination.

Q. What were you doing in front of the factory?—A. Watching.

Q. Do you know whether Frank was arrested?—A. He was not.

Q. Could you see whether anyone was in the office with him?—A. No.

Dr. Hurt Called to Stand.

Dr. J. W. Hurt followed Wagoner on the stand.

Q. What is your business?—A. County physician.

Q. How long have you held this position?—A. Since January 1. Four years at another time.

Q. What are your duties?—A. To appear at all inquests.

Q. Where did you graduate?—A. I attended the old College of Physicians and Surgeons and also studied in New York.

Q. Did you see the body of Mary Phagan?—A. Yes; Sunday morning, April 27.

Q. Describe to the jury how she appeared.—A. I went to the undertaking establishment. She had a scalp wound on the left side of the head, about two inches long. The right eye was bruised. There were some broken places on the cheek and forehead, scratches on the right and left elbows and scars on right and left legs just below the knees. There was a cord around her neck. It is my opinion that she died from strangulation.

Q. Was this the cord? (Dorsey displayed a long hemp cord.)—A. Yes, so it appears.

Q. Was there any swelling in the neck?—A. Yes.

Q. What would that indicate?—A. That the cord was put around her neck before death.

Q. What was the appearance of the scalp wound?—A. It appeared to have been made by a blunt instrument from below striking upward.

Looked Like First Bruise.

Q. What about the wound around the eye area?—A. The skin was not broken. It looked like it might have been made with a soft instrument.

Q. Could a fist have done it?—A. Yes, it was quite possible.

Q. What do you think would have been the effect of these blows? Were they sufficient to have caused death?—A. No. I would think the blow on the back of the head would have caused unconsciousness.

Q. Did you find any evidence of assault?—A. I did not discover any evidence of violence. There was some blood, but I could not say whether it was from a wound or not.

Q. What was the nature of the wounds on the elbows and the leg?—A. I would say they were made after death.

Attorney Arnold took the witness on cross-examination.

Q. How did these scratches appear? Could they have been made by the body being dragged by the heels?—A. No. If she were dragged, I should say she was dragged face forward. The scratches ran back as though she was dragged forward.

Cut Two and Half Inches Long.

Q. How long did you say the wound on the scalp was?—A. Let me refer to my notes.

Q. You said it was two and a half inches long and Dr. Harris said it was one and a half inches long. I want to know which is right.

“Two and a half inches,” said Dr. Hurt, after looking at his notes.

Q. Did you measure the wound when Dr. Harris dug up the body nine days later?—A. No.

Q. You are not absolutely certain about this examination?—A. I am not absolutely certain, but judging from the best of my ability.

Q. All expert testimony is guessing more or less, isn’t it? It is just a question as to who can guess the best, isn’t it?—A. I expect you are more familiar with expert testimony than anybody else, aren’t you?

Skull Not Fractured.

Q. You didn’t see any damage on the side of the skull, did you?—A. No, the skull was not fractured.

Q. The brain was not injured?—A. There was some slight trace of concussion on the inside.

Q. You had to be looking for it to see it, didn’t you?—A. No, it could be easily seen.

Q. Did you ever hear of a test to see whether a hemorrhage on the inside would produce unconsciousness?—A. No.

Q. Did you ever hear of such a question or strain on the medical profession as to answer a question like that?—A. No.

Q. Were you ever asked before to examine the inside of a skull to determine whether a person was knocked unconscious?—A. No.

Q. Did you ever hear of a person being killed from a blow on the head and there being no scar on the outside?—A. No.

Q. Have you ever heard of persons living after a fracture having the inner and the outer table trepined and a piece taken out and then living?—A. Yes.

Results Always Uncertain.

Q. You can reduce almost every faculty of the brain without producing death? The sight, the hearing?—A. Yes.

Q. Can you tell me what faculty of the brain was located where this blow was struck?—A. No, I don’t believe I can.

Q. One thousand different effects could be produced without producing death or unconsciousness?—A. Yes.

Q. What makes you say that one little blow could have produced unconsciousness?—A. I just believe it.

Q. That little hemorrhage was not what enabled you to say that she was knocked unconscious?—A. No. The exterior appearance was on what I based my opinion, but I strengthened it by the extent of the contusion on the inside.

Q. How do you know strangulation killed her?—A. I could find no other cause.

Q. What about the windpipe and the lungs in strangulation?—A. What do you mean?

Q. How do the lungs appear?—A. Congested.

Q. You never examined the lungs?—A. No.

Q. Why do you say strangulation caused her death?—A. Because I found the rope deeply imbedded in the neck.

Not Sure About Assault.

Q. Looking at that girl that morning would you say that she was ravished?—A. I haven’t said so.

Q. Will you say so?—A. I do not know.

Q. You found no external signs of violence?—A. No, but my examination was not final.

Mr. Dorsey objected and was sustained.

Q. There are a great many things to cause a little inflammation?—A. Yes.

Q. Were you present at the first post-mortem examination?—A. Yes.

Q. Dr. Harris took the body a second time, didn’t he?—A. I don’t know.

Q. Dr. Harris is a sort of specialist on post-mortems, isn’t he?—A. I don’t know.

Solicitor Dorsey made a side remark that Mr. Arnold’s cross-examination of the witness was a pedantic parade.

Q. Doctor, it depends on the individual just how soon cabbage is digested, doesn’t it?—A. Yes, some digest it sooner than others.

No Rule for Digesting Cabbage.

Q. Isn’t each man a law unto himself?—A. Yes, more or less.

Q. Cabbage is one of the hardest things of the world to digest, isn’t it?—A. Yes; it is generally regarded as hard.

Q. Doesn’t it take from three to four hours to digest cabbage?—A. Yes; three or four hours to thoroughly digest it.

Q. It depends a great deal on how well it was chewed, and how much saliva flowed down, doesn’t it?—A. Yes. Masticating helps digestion.

Q. Suppose a little girl in a hurry to catch a car hurriedly ate some cabbage and allowed it to go down unchewed. Wouldn’t it take much longer to digest the unchewed part?—A. Yes.

Q. Don’t you think a doctor is making a mighty wild statement to get up here and state that a piece of unchewed cabbage had not been in a stomach—

“I object,” said Dorsey. “That is a question for a jury, and not Dr. Hurt.”

“I thought it was wild,” said Mr. Arnold.

“I object to that,” returned Dorsey.

“I withdraw it,” said Mr. Arnold.

“It was entirely gratuitous and should never have been put in,” said Solicitor Dorsey. The Solicitor was sustained.

Death Stops Digestion.

Q. Does death stop digestion?—A. Yes, sir; I think it does.

Q. When a person becomes unconscious, does digestion stop?—A. I rather think so.

Q. If you ate something and went to sleep, digestion would continue?—A. Yes.

Q. Why, then, does digestion stop when a person is unconscious?—A. It is an unnatural unconsciousness.

Q. Aren’t the gastric juices and blood the only two things that have anything to do with digestion?—A. Yes.

Q. Well, do they die when a person becomes unconscious?—A. No, but the stomach is partially paralyzed.

Q. Didn’t you say it was a wild guess to say how long she was unconscious until the time she died?—A. No, I don’t think I did.

A mass of testimony followed that is unprintable. In the course of it, Dorsey said:

“I object to these comparisons.”

Judge Roan—He has not asked any question that was a comparison.

Arnold—I withdraw the question.

Dorsey—I thought so.

Arnold—Then I won’t withdraw it.

Rosser—Don’t pay any attention to Dorsey, Rube.

Arnold—All right; I withdraw it.

The witness left the stand and was followed by Detective R. L. Waggoner.

The testimony of Dr. Harris came as a startling climax to Friday’s session of the Frank trial. The State had been getting along, only indifferently well up to this point.

Darley Proves Disappointment.

N. V. Darley, associated with Frank in the supervision of the factory’s administration, had given promise of being one of the State’s star witnesses, but he later had proved a disappointment from the prosecution’s viewpoint and under the cross-examination of Reuben Arnold had developed about as good a witness for the defense as the State has called so far.

Mrs. Arthur White, wife of one of the employees who was working on the fourth floor of the factory the day of the crime, possibly added a weak link in the chain of circumstantial evidence that the State is welding about Frank, but the most that she could say was that Frank was startled when she entered his office at 12:30—just after the girl had been murdered, according to the State’s theory—and that Frank did not put on his hat and coat to leave as he said he was going to do when he came to the fourth floor at 12:50 to tell the three persons there to go or be locked in.

One piece of her testimony which is expected to play an important part in the later development of the State’s theory was that she saw a negro lounging by the steps as she left a few minutes before 1 o’clock.

Four Others Called.

The other witnesses of the day were Call Officer W. F. Anderson, Stenographer L. F. Parry, Albert McKnight, husband of the servant girl in the home where Frank and his parents lived, and G. C. Febuary, private secretary to Chief of Detectives Lanford.

Anderson told of his efforts to get Frank on the telephone the morning of the tragedy. Under cross-examination, he was led to repudiate in part some of the testimony he had given at the Coroner’s inquest. Before the Coroner he had said that he negro Newt Lee could not have seen the body of Mary Phagan from the point where he declared he stood when he made his grewsome discovery.

Attorney Rosser called his previous testimony to his attention, but the policeman asserted that he was mistaken when he made his first statement and that it now was his opinion that Lee could have seen the body all right.

Parry was called to identify the testimony of Leo Frank before the Coroner’s jury and later by the defense was asked to identify that of Lee and other witnesses and declare if it was a correct statement of what they had said at the preliminary inquiry.

Gets in Frank’s Story.

Solicitor Dorsey called Febuary to get in evidence the first statement that Frank made to the police after he was taken to headquarters. In this statement Frank said that the Phagan girl came to the factory for her money between 12:05 and 12:10, possibly 12:07.

McKnight’s most important testimony was that he had been in the Frank home at 1:30 the afternoon of April 26, and had seen Frank come home and rush away without getting anything to eat. He said that looking into a mirror from his vantage point in the kitchen he had obtained a good view of Frank as he entered the house.

He declared that all Frank did was to go to the sideboard and a moment later leave the house. Frank at the Coroner’s inquest said that when he went home at noon he ate luncheon with his father-in-law and lay down for a few minutes on the lounge. McKnight said he had a good view of the table and that Frank did not sit down.

Darley, after admitting to Solicitor Dorsey that Frank was nervous, pale and trembling the day after the tragedy, added under cross-examination that this condition was nothing unusual for the young factory superintendent. He said that frequently when Frank was excited he ran his hands through his hair and that he had seen Frank a thousand times rub his hands nervously.

He also declared that on two occasions in particular he had witnessed Frank in the same condition he was in Sunday at the factory. One was when Frank saw a street car run down a child, and another when he had an altercation with one of the factory officials.

Darley testified it was nothing unusual for scratch pads like the one found in the basement near Mary Phagan’s body to be discovered in any part of the factory. He said the same of the pay envelopes like the one found by Mary Phagan’s machine. He asserted that the envelopes were scattered on every floor of the factory every pay day. A ripple of merriment was caused when Attorney Arnold, referring to R. P. Barrett and his discoveries of pay envelope, blood spots and strands of hair, designated him as “Christopher Columbus Barrett.”

After a sharp fight between the attorneys, Attorneys Arnold and Rosser succeeded in getting before the jury that other persons as well as Leo Frank were excited and nervous after the tragedy. Judge Roan was inclined at first to sustain the prosecution’s objections, but later decided that testimony of this sort might be admitted in order that the defense might show that these signs of nervousness need not be taken as indications of guilt.