Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR freight spottin' them ties. Better wait until about ten minutes past. The chief shrugged his shoulders. All right. It donft make no difference to me as long as you make sure them ties are in place on timef' They began to talk in monotones. Effie counted seconds silently. Sixteen minutes. The others talked ong Ellie watched. It must be quarter past by now! Suddenly he straightened in his chair as he heard steam escape in the distance. It was audible for just an instant, but was audible, how- ever. It was the bank train! The sudden, far-off tone of a steam whistle sounded through the night. The five men leaped to their feet simultaneously. Cursing loudly, the leader snatched up the clock and pressed it to his ear. Stopped! he snarled, as he hurled it to the floor. It struck with a tinkle of breaking glass, and rolled beneath Efhels chair. He whirled on Effie. An' you knew it. He struck Effie viciously in the face. The five masked men rushed for the door that led to the landing at the top of the stairs. The whistle sounded again, loudly and clearly. The white ray of the headlight on No. 361 lit up the side of the switch tower at Lonesome. The bandits crowded back into the room and slammed the door, throwing themselves flat on the floor. The leader struggled with the levers in an attempt to open a switch. The key was in EfTie's pocket. That was a regulation of the road. With- out the key, levers could not be moved. With a snarl, the leader struck Effie again. Lights danced before EfHe's eyes. Good old clock. Unconsciousness swallowed him up. He blinked his eyes as if awakened from a dream and started at the walls around him. He did not know how long he had been uncon- scious, but his visitors had gone. He was alone. His head throbbed pain- fully and his wrists, which were still tightly bound, ached madly. He strove to move in his chair. His head was whirling wildly. He shook it to clear it. Then he sat up suddenly. The Western Mail! The special card said to stop the Western Mail and hold it until the Cannonball was by. He did not know what time it was, but he glanced at the electric clock. Angrily he bit his lip, as he realized that behind his coat was the correct time. Of all the fools he was the worst. Then an idea struck him. He tried to see where the little clock was. It was under his chair, out of sight. He rocked back and forth in his chair. Then throwing all his weight backward, his chair toppled over to the floor. The shock stunned him for a moment, but he commenced to wriggle wildly. There was the mahogany clock! Fit

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THE REFLECTOR Loud laughter was his answer from the others scattered about the room. Listen to 'im, boys, snorted the tall one. Why, my dear boy, we're just goin' to hold a prayer meeting right here in this room. Bandy, you pass the hat. The others laughed at the rough sarcasm of the leader. :'What are we goin' to do, you young fool? snarled the short one. We're goin' to pile up your little bank train about a quarter of a mile down the track, an, while the crew is busy dyin' we're going to help ourselves to any money that might be lyin' around loose in the wreck. See?,' EfHe's blood ran cold in his veins. l'Pile it up? No! Listen to reason! Shet up! barked the leader, as he finished tightening the knots that bound Effie to his chair. But I can stop her from here! shouted Eflie. You don't have to kill her crew that way! I'1l stop her! Stuff a gag in his face, Rad! cut in the fat one. Do we look like a gang of fools? If we ever stopped her with all the armoured cars she's got, what kind of a show would we have? We,d all be killed. Ain't you got no feelinis for poor unsuspectin' guys like us? Oh! We'll stop her, all right, but she,ll be on her side in a ditch when we do! Effie closed his eyes and gritted his teeth firmly after the gag had been shoved into his mouth. A picture of the torn and twisted wreckage of the bank train flashed before him, and cold sweat stood out on his brow. Suddenly he twisted his head to one side and listened. What was the mat- ter? The bandits were talking and did not notice his strange look. He tried to concentrate. Something was wrong. What was the matter, anyway? Now he knew. The little mahogany clock had stopped! Eleven forty-seven! It was still eleven forty-seven! He closed his eyes again and counted to himself. When he reached one hundred and twenty, he opened his eyes and looked again. Still eleven forty-seven. The little mahogany clock had stopped. He settled back in his chair as a ray of hope shot through his brain. Working silently at his bonds, he tried to loosen them. They were too tight. Finally the leader arose to his feet. All right, Bandy. I guess there won't be anything else along now for a while. Better go down the line an' pile up them ties. An be sure you pile ,em on the outbound rail.', Bandy yawned and stretched. XVe got plenty of time, Rad, he drawled. ':Say, kid, where's your clock?', Efiie nodded toward the desk. Almost ten minutes of twelvef' broke in the short bandit. We got plenty of time. Better take it easy. We donit want no passin' Follffeefl

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THE REFLECTOR Beside it were several pieces of glass from the crystal front. Slowly he worked his body around. Finally' his fingers closed on a piece of the glass. Bending his wrist back he commenced to saw on the cord, back and forth, furiously. Hold the NWestern Mail! He must hold the mail! Frantically he worked on. His wrist pained him sharply. Once he stopped to rest. Then he kept on, spurred by the thought-Hold the mail! Suddenly he shivered with fear. What was that? It was the faint, clear note of the approaching Western mail. Savagely he jerked at the cords that held him. The mail was round- ing the curve that led to the Y',! With a cry, EfHe felt the cord suddenly give. One hand was free! Now the other! He dragged himself to the desk and pulled himself up- ward with a mighty effort! It was too late to set the signal against the mail. The board was locked. It would take too long to unlock it. Effiels eyes swept the room in despair. The chair was still tied to his feet. He could not move. Near him lay the little clock. Like a flash he stooped and picked it up! Leaning as far over his desk as the chair would permit, he hurled it toward the cab of the mail as it lurched by the tower. Again things grew dark. He fell in a heap on the floor. As the glass of the windshield in front of him was suddenly shattered, Gerther, the engineer of the Western Mail, felt a small hard object strike his arm and bound to the floor. With an exclamation of surprise and pain, he stooped and picked it up. Eflieis clock! He suddenly applied the brakes. A minute later the long train was at a standstill, and hustling train- men were racing back toward the switch tower at Lonesome. There is an unusual sight to be seen today in one of the main offices of a big western railroad. To get to it, one must first pass through a door which is inscribed: Mr. E. George Effingwell, General Passenger Agent. After one has been seated for a time before the large desk, he may notice a peculiar object upon it. It is a somewhat battered and dented mahogany clock. It is mounted on a bronze base on which is inscribed: K'This clock stopped to save a train!', If one happens to be a good friend of Effie one may ask him how it happened to stop. I don't knowf' is his reply. I've thought it over from every angle and have studied the case thoroughly, but I can think of no reason, save the one that I was so mad at that electric clock that I forgot to wind this one! H. M. Ross, June 1932. Sixteen