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

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SOPHOMORE CLASS—CLASSICAL AND GENERAL DIVISION

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them if you can carry their oars to the boat? I’ll wait here for you.” The girls were approaching the spot where Billie and A1 were sitting. Their conversation could be heard. “I wonder if we’ll catch any fish this morning. Virginia” said the tall girl. “I don't think so, Barbara. We never do,” replied Virginia. “Say, Billie, Old Pal, you know their names now . Ask if they need any help.” A1 said jokingly. The girls were just passing them. Billie, with a brave attempt at nonchalance, suddenly said, “Pardon me, but do you girls need any help?” “Certainly, these oars are heavy and if you don’t mind,” answered Virginia. Billie in his most gallant manner hastened to relieve Virginia. Bashful A1 who waited patiently for Billie’s return was greeted by “Well. Al. old kid, how’s that?” “Oh. that was all right, but why didn’t you carry Barbara’s oar?” “What! Didn’t I carry her oar? Well I’ll be a dirty so—and so. I fixed it up anyway. You and I are going to take them fishing the day after tomorrow.” “I don’t believe you,” Al retorted. “Well, Barbara invited us. Didn’t I tell you she was my type of girl? Boy! I tell you she has blue eyes ! Ah ! Love! What!” Two days later Billie and Al were slowly walking to the summer colony. Billie was speaking. “Al, we’ll take them to the dance tonight. Afterwards we’ll go riding.” “Stop dreaming and wake up. There’s Virginia up ahead of us. Barbara isn’t with her though.” Al said. “She’s probably in the house,” replied Billie. “Hello, Virginia, where’s Barbara?” asked Billie. “She’s gone.” replied Virginia, “but she left this note for you.” Billie took the note and slowly opened it. “Come on, read it,” Al said poking him. Billie looked at the note and read: “I left yesterday for South America with Daddy. I’m going where there are gentlemen who will carry a lady’s oar when he so graciously asks her. Sorry I couldn’t go fishing with you. I am going to do some deep sea fishing down here. I’ll send you a picture of my first catch. If you are ever down this way call on me and I’ll let you row my boat. Barbara.” “So she’s just your type,” said Al sarcastically. “Well, she certainly knows the fish to pull in. She hooked you very easily.” THOMAS OLSTEAD, 12B WHERE? Sergeant Tom Cassidy nonchalantly picked up the telephone that had been ringing furiously, and muttered, “Police station, Ser-wa-what? Murder? Carl Rhend, fourteen Oak Street? O. K. Who are you?” Cassidy received no answer for the person on the other end of the wire had hastily hung up. “Hey, Mike, wake up!” Cassidy vociferated so loudly that Detective Mike O’Neil of the homicide bureau, who had been peacefully sleeping, awoke with a start As they rushed from the station, and jumped into a police car at the curb O’Neil panted: “Whats a matter, Sarge?” “Don’t know yet.” Cassidy replied. “Sounds like somebody’s going to get their throat cut at fourteen Oak Street. That’s where Carl Rhend, the famous diamond importer lives. Step on the gas and maybe we’ll be in at the death!” As the police car plunged down the street, two patrol cars, instructed by a short wave radio, proceeded to the same address. The car screamed towards its destination and came to a grinding stop before a three story GREEN dMrudL WDIOTTE- 28

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brick mansion. Roth policemen hurriedly alighted from the car, and ran to the door where, in reply to their constant ringing of the doorbell, a Chinese servant, answered their summons. The servant said that the head of the house was busy in the library, and tried to intercept the two men—but in vain. O’Neil, the “brains” of the force, angrily pushed him aside, stalked to what he assumed to be the library door, pushed it open and found—not a dead man as he had expected—but Carl Rhend himself smiling and glowing with health. The importer asked anxiously: What is all the trouble O’Neil (O’Neil was well known)? No, I haven’t touched the telephone today. Yes, you may look around.” O’Neil started up stairs with Cassidy at his heels, and, just as they had reached a landing on the second floor, a roar of gunfire shattered the tomb like silence of the place. Like a flash of lightning O’Neil bolted for the first door, reached the library, and flung open the door to discover—not the smiling Carl Rhend who had graciously welcomed them— but a dead Carl Rhend with a bullet through the middle of his forehead! “Round up the cook and the butler in the kitchen, and tell the men from the patrol cars to surround the house,” barked Cassidy. In the kitchen, O’Neil had a difficult time with the cook who insisted that he must stay in the kitchen to make certain that the duck which was roasting in the oven would not burr.. Finally, he was persuaded by force to go to the designated room. From the two and only servants, Cassidy learned that Carl Rhend had in the safe some very valuable jewels. The open safe confirmed the belief that the motive of the murder was robbery. The Chinese servants insisted that they had been no where near the scene of the murder; Lang—the cook—saying that he was on the third floor, and Chang—the butler—saying that he had been asleep. Who committed the murder? Lang or Chang? These were the only two in the house, besides the officers, at the time of the killing. To make matters easier, I’ll eliminate Chang for you by saying that he was an undercover man for the United States Customs. Now, we know Lang is the murderer! Here’s another clue as to how Lang committed the murder—in a large mansion such as Carl Rhend’s, there is usually a dumb waiter, cleverly disguised as a closet. The questions without answers: How was Lang able to get from the third to the first floors with such amazing rapidity? Who sent in the “murder call” to police headquarters? Where were the jewels hidden? RUTH TATTRIE, 12A. TOO REALISTIC It was a cold night; the streets were shrouded in velvety blackness. Somewhere, a dog howled mournfully, while an owl hooted discordantly. Step, step, step—what was that strange noise in the eerie stillness of the night? Step, step, step—then a pause. The maker of those uncanny beats leaned wearily against a lamp-post. The yellow light, illuminating a white, girlish face, with trembling lips, and violet-shadowed eyes. As if with an effort, the eyes opened, and the girl looked confusedly at the dismal surroundings. Her eyes fell on a bridge nearby, and like one fascinated, she walked slowly across to it, and stood staring down—down into the murky depths which seemed to stretch comforting arms to her. Climbing to the rail, she stood there, wavering, a beautiful poised silhouette in the shadows. Step—step—step.—then a pause. Who could it be? A tall handsome man came out of the shadows, looking dejected and sad. He saw the girl, and ran to her, “Mary Brown! Good GREEN wmdL WD1 DUE- 30