Bristol High School - Green and White Yearbook (Bristol, RI)

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 13 locomotive at the end of the journey. “I’ll do my best,” was Mr. Greene’s answer. At just 7:20 our friend received the green lantern signal and the old locomotive rolled gracefully into the station where the President’s car was coupled onto the end of the eighth Pullman. There stood the old engine with her proud engineer and the eight cars with the President’s car at the rear. It was a sight to behold and the young engineer’s heart thrilled at the thought of his journey. It was now time to start on the journey to Readville. The train pulled out of the station very gracefully and gained speed at each turn of the wheels. It increased from 40 miles an hour until by gradual ascent it reached the speed of 75 miles an hour. It continued to go at this rate until it reached Dare Devil’s Curve, where Mr. B. noticed a Red Eye flashing frantically in front of him. He applied his brakes and then the emergencies, until the train was brought to a dead halt, just a hundred feet from the fallen bridge. This stop meant the saving of over a hundred lives, as well as the train and locomotive. After the excitement had subdued. Mr. B. went back to sec where the signal man was, and greatly to his surprise he found after a long search that the danger signal had been caused by a small bird which had become lodged in the headlight and was trying to get out. As I have not told who the engineer was, I will first say that this story is not true, but is especially written for the Green White for the benefit of our beloved friend, Mr. Brightman, a veteran of two rails. NORMAN BENARD, ’25. ------o----- THE REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR John Abbot was very old. He was the wealthiest man in the town. He had many queer ideas and once he had formed a plan he would not change his mind under any circumstances. No one knew from where he got his money or when. The only thing that was known was that he possessed millions. The one person who he cherished above all others was his grand daughter, Marguerite, who was his only relative. John Abbot often would laugh and say to Marguerite, “Life won’t always be so easy; you will have to work hard someday or starve.” Marguerite thought this was a great joke. She often thought afterwards what he meant by this; but these thoughts did not worry her long; and she would go out with a number of her friends and forget them. There was one man whom she had re- cently met at a party, who interested her particularly. He seemed well educated. By his conversation she learned that he had been to Harvard. He was very tall and had brown hair that waved slightly. He was so tall that whenever Marguerite stood beside him, she appeared to be very small. His name was Edward Sargent. One day old John Abbot died suddenly. His death was a shock to the whole town. Marguerite, who before this time did not know what trouble was, was especially saddened. She had a great many friends to console her, but the one who was always ready to help most was Edward Sargent. Not long after this the will was read. The beautiful estate was willed to Marguerite but the money would not be so easy to get. The will said that the money was hidden somewhere in the house. John Abbot expressed his desire to have Marguerite search for it without any outside help. It also stated that until she found the money she would have to find some kind of employment. Marguerite trembled at the thought of this; for what kind of work could she do? Now she knew what her grand father meant when he said, “Life won’t always be so easy; you will have to work some day or starve.” All that night these words rang through her head. She pictured herself as a stenographer, as a dressmaker, as a mill-worker, and a dozen other things; but she coud not fulfill the requirements of any of them. She arose the next morning after a sleepless night determined to find the money. Her faithful maid, Marie, offered to assist her; but Marguerite, remembering the words of the will reluctantly, refused her aid. She decided to start in the attic and search every nook down to the cellar. This seemed to her the only logical thing to do. In the attic she opened all the trunks, moved everything, hunted for trap doors; she even found a way out in the roof. At last she gave up in despair. The next day she was going to search the second floor. That evening Edward Sargent called. Marguerite told him of her search. He offered to help her but this Marguerite refused to let him do. First of all, the next day she ransacked her grand father’s bedroom and his private den which was the next room. In his desk she hunted for any papers which might help her. She found one paper with some strange lettering on it and also there was a tiny arrow on the right corner of the paper and on the arrow was printed the word, “Gold.” Marguerite examined this paper closely, turning it all ways but she could make nothing of it. She

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12 THE GREEN AND WHITE We held several dances which were decidedly successful. One evening the Brown orchestra gave us a very pleasing entertainment which was well patronized. In March we held a food sale, and after the supper was served, dancing was enjoyed by the pupils. The school orchestra, under the direction of Miss Sullivan, furnished music. Our class play, “Daddy-Long-Legs,” was presented by a talented group of Seniors, assisted by several talented Freshmen. It certainly was enjoyed by all those who saw it and was a great success. As May dawned, again we decided to go on another May walk. We met in front of the school at 7:00 A. M., and started on a hike to Mount Hope. We ate our lunch on the “White Rocks,” and returned home at 3:00, fatigued and exhausted. We are getting ready for graduation, so our good times as a class in C. M. H. S. are over, but we sincerely hope that the little advice wafted in on the September breezes of four years ago, “to take our place in the ranks or men, and always the honor of C. M. H. S. sing,” will be upheld by every member of the Class of 1924. MARGUERITE BOOTH, Historian of the Class of 1924. ------o----- THE DANGER SIGNAL The month of October in the year 1893 was a very unsettled period for the little town of Bristol. The streets of the town had become rivers of muddy water, and our old friends, Ambrose E. Brunswick said it was the worst month he had seen in seventy five years. About six o’clock on the twenty-eighth day of the month, a young man about twenty-five years of age was seen walking down Franklin street toward the railroad station. He reached there just in time to catch the six o’clock train to Providence. In a half hour’s time he arrived in the big city and there commenced his night’s run on the P. W. B. Railroad, running old Number 6, better known as the famous F. M. Weld. This engineer had never missed a day since he began his career as a railroad man. He had seen many storms, but none as bad as the one of the twenty-ninth of October. In those days, the conductors were allowed to go up and talk to the engineer at each station, so as the old Number Six stopped at Warren the conductor, namely, Joseph Bosworth, went up and started to talk to our friend, who we cherish so much today. During the conversation, this conductor asked T. P. B. if he thought it had cleared off for good. “Well, I hope so,” was the answer. “I nearly ran by two Red Eyes night before last.” It was about the worst trip I ever put in on two rails.” “Yes,” said Mr. Bosworth, “it was a ripper. I understand there were two washouts at Readville. “I wouldn’t wonder,” was T. P. B.’s answer. “I understand that a dam broke there early in the evening.” “I didn’t hear a word about it,” said Mr. Bosworth. “But I known this much, if that is true those old bridges will go.” “Well, I certainly hope not,” said our friend. I have to go over that bridge tomorrow.” “If the water hits the cement, it will go like so much mud.” “What makes you think so?” “Think so? I know so,” said Bosworth. “Well, it is starting time,” said the conductor, and called out, “All aboard for Bristol, and then the engineer started. “Bear in mind what I have told you, Tom,” said the conductor as he retreated. After reaching Bristol, the locomotive was turned toward Providence again, where it was backed into the round-house. The thirtieth of October our friend was right on his seat ready to start for Readville. The fireman had shoveled on the coal and the train was now ready to go. But at that moment our young friend got a message from the Master Mechanic which requested his presence in the office immediately. When he reached the office, he received a more cordial reception than he had expected. “Come right in,” said the Master Mechanic. “You are Mr. T. P. B., are you not?” “Yes sir.” “You are spare man on old No. 6?” “Yes sir.” “How long have you been on the job?” “A little over six months,” was the answer. “Do you think you are capable of becoming a permanent man?” “Yes indeed, Why?” “Well, I’ll tell you. It is this way. The regular man has met with an accident and I want you to become a permanent man.” Then he grasped Mr. B.’s hand and said, “You are to pilot the old No. 6 tonight to Readville. As our esteemed friend left the office, he felt as though he were walking on air. By the way, all young men of his age do when they receive a promotion of this kind. It is always customary for the engineer to inspect his engine before leaving, and also to oil it up, and this is what young B. did. It was going to be the thrill of his lifetime, as the President’s car was on the rear, and he told his fireman to do his best in keeping up steam, and to tidy up the cab as he expected the President to inspect the

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14 THE GREEN AND WHITE put the paper in the pocket of her dress and continued her search through the other rooms. Again that evening young Sargent came to call and appeared to be very interested in the hunt for the money. Marguerite showed him the paper she had found. Edward took the paper and examined it closely and finally said that he couldn’t make “head or tail” to it. Marguerite knew that if she didn’t find the money soon, she would have to go to work. On the third day she started out almost desperate, determined to find the hidden treasure. Towards evening she gave up, still without any luck. “Well,” she said to Marie, “Grandfather must have wanted me to work, and it looks as if I will have to.” In the middle of the night she was awakened suddenly. She heard Marie saying quietly, “Miss Marguerite! Miss Marguerite 1 Some one in the drawing room. It is lighted up. I turned the lights out before I came to bed.” “Are you sure, Marie?” said Marguerite, sitting up in bed. “Yes, I am sure that some one is there, because I heard a chair move and some papers rustle.” Marguerite, quite aroused by this time, arose quickly and started downstairs followed by Marie. She crept stealthily up to the door of the drawing room. Sure enough, it was lit up 1 Marguerite’s face became very pale, for as she looked in the old Colonial mirror on the other side of the room she saw the reflection of Edward Sargent emerge from a narrow passageway in the wall. In his hands he carried a bag which he placed on the floor, and then he disappeared. “Quick! Marie,” Marguerite said in a whisper, “wake the other servants and bring them here.” Marguerite stayed outside the door and waited for Sargent to re-appear. The intruder was overpowered and tied to a chair by the servants until the arrival of the police. He offered no excuse but went along with the officers quietly. “How did he know where the money was?” asked Marie. “I know,” said Marguerite. Then she told about the paper she had found in her grandfather’s desk. She said that she hadn’t ben able to find it since the night she showed it to him. “After all the others had returned to their rooms, Marguerite walked up to the old mirror and looked at it. “Good old mirror,” she sighed, “you will never lose your place on the wall if I can help it.” ELSA GREENWELL. HUMAN MOSQUITOES Human mosquitoes are like unto the mosquito of the insect species; just as soon as Dame Nature appears, bringing with her pleasant evenings of warmth and pleasure, out flitted the mosquitoes of both kinds from their quarters and set about their task of making it impossible for anyone to enjoy the beauties of nature. During the summer evenings you no sooner get seated on your front porch, but up come your would-be friends to make the evening unpleasant for you. Soon the buzzing starts and you are trying to decide in your mind which one you would choose to banish if you had the privilege of chasing one of them away. When the two forms of mosquitoes appear, they bring with them germs; one brings the germ of malaria and unhealth-fulness, and the other the germ of scandal and gossip. These people destroy much more than the insect mosquito, for as the insect mosquito destroys your comfort, the human mosquito destroys your home and your name and also your social standing. The queer part of it is that once out of every hundred times they know what they are talking about and the other ninety-nine times they are either telling something they made up themselves or something somebody made up and told them. As the insect mosquito causes you bother by his continual bites and stings, the human mosquito causes you worry and discomfort. There is hardly any choice as to which one is the more welcome, or which one does the greater damage, because -you generally find the human mosquito “picking on someone wiser than he. The insect in my opinion is much more preferable to the mosquito of the human sort. EDWARD WALSH. Class of 1924. ------o----- THE MISSION OF A LETTER Mrs. Letter lay beneath a box under-the counter in a little country store that was also a post-office. It was very dark and dreary under the counter, and the box had wrinkled her pretty dress. “Oh dear, dear, dear,” sighed Mrs. Letter, “how I wish I could go back up on that other counter again. How nice it was up there when I could talk to all the other letters; and how I loved to watch the people coming in and out. I did so want to be somebody’s letter and I don’t see why that stupid man let me slip down through that hole in the counter, but ah! well, I might as well resign myself to fate. It won’t do me any good to complain, and maybe, maybe,”