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

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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,”

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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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THE GREEN AND WHITE 15 said hopeful little Mrs. Letter, “what is in this big box over me will be used up and then they'll move the box and see me, and then, and then,” but Mrs. Letter was quite over whelmed with her own hopes that she would be moved, and subsided quiveringly onto the counter. How Mrs. Letter wondered who she was meant for and what news she was supposed to contain. “How sweet and happy that pretty young lady looked when she put my dress on me,” mused Mrs. Letter. “How gayly she tripped down the stairs to give me to the big man with the bag on his back. I’d like to see that girl again. I wonder what she would say if she knew where I am now.” For days Mrs. Letter lay hopefully under the box. Now the box contained mothballs and there was not a very great demand for them in the winter, but finally summer came. The demand for moth-balls to put up winter clothes, increased every day and Mr. Hodge decided to move the box up on the top counter where it would be handy. He was very near-sighted, but his hand encountered and lifted poor trembling Mrs. Letter out into the daylight. “Well, well, what’s this?” exclaimed Mr. Hodge, as he fumbled through his pockets for his spectacles. “Oh, how slow he is, said Mrs. Letter to herself. Finally Mr. Hodge had his glasses on, and slowly read aloud this address: Mr. George Stanley, Chief Construction Engineer, New Pemberton Mills, Pennsylvania. “Well by gum!” exclaimed Mr. Hodge. “Now ain’t it too bad. That thar young feller did look so downhearted when I told him way back thar in February there warn’t no letter here for him. They do say he ain’t doin’ half so well up thar as he usta when the letters came regular every two days. Well, I swan ! Here you, Timothy, come here. Take this here letter up to Mista Stanley and go double quick. You better ride yer wheel and you'll get thar quicker. Now scat!” Poor Mrs. Letter trembling with excitement and expectation jogged up and down in Timothy’s pocket, along the rutty country road. “Hey thar, where's Mista Stanley?” shouted Timothy to one of the workmen. “He’s over on t’other side a tha buildin’ talkin’ ta Jim Hawkins.” Timothy ran lumberingly around the building and drew up, red-faced and panting, before Mr. Stanley. “Here’s a letter for ya, sir. Mr. Hodge said I was to bring it double quick.” Stanley’s heart skipped a beat. How well he knew that familiar handwriting! He tore the letter open swiftly and glanced quickly down the page. Then suddenly his eyes brightened and he murmured aloud—“and dad says he couldn’t choose a better son-in-law.” Oh, how little Mrs. Letter’s heart thumped as she hear these words. “Oh goodness me,” she said, “how very stupid that man was to lose such an important letter. How unhappy the beautiful lady-must be.” Soon she was in George’s inside pocket next to his wildly beating heart. For days she lay there, wondering if this was the end of her mission in life. But ah, no, Mrs. Letter was far too important a letter to lay thus concealed from view. One day she was moved from the pocket and George very- tenderly tied a beautiful blue sash around her dress, and placed her in a beautiful frame of rose-wood with a glass door in the front, through which Mrs. Letter gazed amazedly at her surroundings. “Oh. oh, oh, I’m back in the beautiful lady’s house,” she said excitedly. “I remember hearing that beautiful clock up there ticking as she carried me down the stairs.” A few minutes later looking about her, Mrs. Letter saw a great many packages of various sizes, and some other letters, and shyly asked one of them what was happening in the house; there was such an air of suppressed excitement, and the servants hurried about with such happy smiles. —“and came with her wedding presents,” That night Mrs. Letter could scarcely sleep from excitement. Tomorrow will be so lovely,” she said. “That beautiful lady-will look so pretty, all dressed in white and with a veil and a bouquet of orange blossoms.” (Oh yes, Mrs. Letter knew all about what would happen on the morrow. She had overheard the maid and the butler talking about it.) Hazel did not disappoint Mrs. Letter the next day. She looked very beautiful and happy as she leaned on the arm of her beaming father. And when it was all over, and the happy couple were being congratulated, the first thing Stanley did when he could break away was to take a blossom from Hazel’s bouquet, press it to his lips and then to hers, and then slip it inside Mrs. Letter’s dress quite, quite close to her peaceful, contented heart—and— The very first piece of furniture placed in the Stanley’s new home was that framed and sacred love-letter, and Mrs. Letter beams sweetly from the wall supreme in the knowledge that at last she has fulfilled her mission. CATHERINE M. FAY, Class of 1925.