Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Page 13 text:

Tite Cjolden Disregarding the traffic lights that forbade him to cross, he started to go when a strong arm pulled him back onto the pavement. For an instant he dismissed all other thoughts from his mind to see who had dared stop him from crossing the street and he looked up into the jovial face of Tim Duggan. Sure, but what is on the mind of my friend that makes him, a police officer, cross the street on a red light? queried the patrolman. Oh! It’s you, Tim. I didn’t know just what I was doing, I guess. You see I was thinking,” he confessed lamely. You don’t say, and if it’s not getting too personal, what were you thinkin’ about?” Mulvey, who had again unconsciously forgotten his immediate surroundings, shook himself. Uhhh. What was that you were saying, Tim?” So that’s it. You’re worryin’ about that son of yours again? Well, don’c worry, John. You know he’s just at that restless stage when he wants to see the world. I bet you had the same feelin’ yourself. Now didn’t you?” Mulvey confessed that he’d had some sort of notion in his younger days. You see that’s just what he’s done. Wanted to see a bit of the world before he settled down, that’s natural, isn’t it?” That may be all right, Tim, but I overheard a conversation tonight. It concerned something I have thought a lot about and hoped no one else would think of. He shrugged his shoulders. Foolish, I admit, but something within me tells me not to investigate these 'boy bandit’ robberies any further.” Why?” Because-----” Because you think John is back of them,” finished the patrolman. And who was it who had the same idea on their mind, may I ask?” Oh, Coneghan, I think.” At the mention of Coneghan’s name, Tim went into an elaborated descrip- tion of the man. Don’t listen to him, my boy (Mulvey was much older than himself). They’re like a bunch of old women; they will talk about anything.” The two conversed for several minutes more on a variety of subjects before Mulvey consulted his watch and found it to be after ten o'clock and that his hot dinner” was in all events now cold. He started to say his goodbye when he broke off and demanded his friend's revolver. Why? Surely you’re not thinking of suicide, my friend,” said the police- man always ready with a humorous reply. Come, quick, I must have the gun.” And then by way of explanation he pointed to a single row of footprints that led up to the now empty Van Doran residence. The footprints had been made while they had stood talking. (continued on page 45) 11

Page 12 text:

7Ite Cjolden Roc) I guess he's dropped out of sight,” finished Graves. I wonder why they don’t get some real detectives on this force. Here a youngster has been robbing stores, banks, and houses for five weeks and they haven’t got a single clue. A twenty year old boy has got the police department of a big city like Bedford stumped.” The speaker snickered. You’re right about the detectives this city has. I’m the man they should have on this case,” boasted Coneghan. And what, my dear fellow, gave you the great idea that you, a mere patrol- man, could compete with the master minds of our detective bureau?” asked Graves jokingly. 'My dear fellow,” replied Coneghan imitating Graves and yet using a more serious tone, has it not yet dawned upon you that our beloved detective-inspec- tor’s son disappeared just two, let me spell it for you t-w-o, two days before the first robbery and that the descriptions of the boy bandit’ tally identically with his?” The three men jumped up as one. In the same breath it was with almost the same words that they said it was preposterous. And at the same instant they sat down and commenced arguing, the card game forgotten. It was with a heavy heart that the detective overheard the conversation pre- viously recorded. He sat down on a bench that happened to be near and wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief. True, the detective staff was slow to rec- ognize the fact that this patrolman had realized from the start. He had lab- ored so hard to keep his subordinates from linking up the two incidents and now this. His head was beaded with drops of perspiration despite the fact that he continued to wipe them away. How long he sat there he did not know, but when he finally finished dress- ing, the patrolmen had vacated the next room and Mulvey slunk out much as a child does that has been found out in a lie. He gave a sigh of relief when he found himself outside the building. He could think more clearly in the open air. Outside, the comparatively warm afternoon had turned into a cold Decem- ber night. Large flakes of snow fell from the sky and blanketed the ground to a depth of several inches. On each telephone pole a Christmas tree lifted its branches proudly to the starlit sky. At every corner figures in red and white, accompanied by a bell and crimson bucket, collected money for some charitable organization. Everywhere a gay Christmas spirit prevailed. Was this not the eve of the most looked-forward-to holiday of the entire year? Mulvey saw none of the holiday spirit nor dressings as he pushed his way through the jolly crowd. Many times a friend tapped him on the back or said some cheery word, but they were rewarded only with an icy stare or perhaps nothing at all. Tonight he had eyes for no one. The policeman picked his way through the mile and a half shopping center and approached an intersection not as busy as the other streets on that night.

Page 14 text:

To Gertrude Stein A poem is a poem is a poem and so As I think as I write and I write as I think As I ponder and ponder with ponderings, and so As I read what I write, I read and I blink, As I think as I ponder and blink as I write. I must have a subject, a subject, indeed, which Makes sense in a sentence where a sentence is right, So I ponder and blink and think as I blink, Which Is whicher of which is the Whicher”? So I choose And I loose as I choose all my blinkings And thinking of subjects I choose all I loose, And also and so and so also so, my thinkings I loose as I choose and I think As I ponder and write as I blink! Frances Pinkham