Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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roof over their head, might now feel when a worse calamity should overwhelm her in her last days. She would die if her son were proved a criminal. lie reeled as he saw this and caught hold of a chair just in time to save himself from falling. “Young man, what have you to say?” The words of the president fell on his ear like a thunderbolt. Making an almost Herculean effort to keep calm, he said, “Sir, I know nothing about the check.” “But you see we have the paper here with your own signature as you acknowledge. How could it have gotten past you when you signed it? “I never signed that check at all, although the signature looks like mine. It is a forgery,” bravely asserted Frank, trusting that his innocence would be established. “Well sir, the only way to settle that, is in the court. I’ll have to call the police,” arid so saying Mr. Morganheimer picked up the telephone receiver. Frank dropped into a chair; he could hardly breathe, and hope seemed to give place to despair. “Arrested,” the word came unconsciously. “Before you act hastily, sir,” the cashier suddenly interrupted, “You should be sure. Have we not, just now in the bank, a hand-writing expert? Have him tell you whether the signature is false or true.” The President again showed that look of anxiety, as he recalled that a hand-writing expert had been only that day called in to test the validity of a paper that bore his own signature. Frank’s face lit up at that little gleam of hope. “It is unnecessary,” Mr. Morganheimer said, “but it can do no harm.” He accordingly called the expert, who immediately entered the office. “Mr. Penman, here is a check with a doubtful signature. I would like to know whether it is false or not.” “Can I have a few specimens of the real signature,” said the expert, hoping in this case he could readily come to a decision and retrieve his reputation, which was almost lost by his failure to decide the validity of a paper that very morning. “Certainly. Frank, sign your name a few times here, and Mr. Winthrop. will you please bring in our copy of Mr. Webster’s signature.” Frank signed in an easy manner, and soon the Cashier returned with the regular signature, which tallied exactly with the last. The expert examined them closely and then examined the check. He took out a lens and a rule, drew a few lines on the check and the specimens, and examined them very closely. Meanwhile each held his breath, awaiting the verdict. Was it to be “No”? Was it to be “Yes”? Frank balanced himself by gripping his chair. “No” would mean the penitentiary for him and poverty for his mother. “Yes” he would stay. The expert looked up. He began to speak. 123

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“Yes. The issuing of the check is recorded, but there is do entry of a draft such as is mentioned iu the records.” “We’ll have to ask Mr. Morganheimer, Jr. He attends to the drafts.” Frank said. “All right,—Robert, I want to see you for a while.” “Yes, sir,” Robert Morganheimer said as he came up. His knees suddenly became weak, his face pale, as he said to himself, “It’s coming.” “Here is a check that has been issued in payment of a draft of which there is no trace whatever. Do you know anything of it?” the Cashier asked. “Just a minute, I will look in my books,” he answered. Hoping to strengthen a suspicion that he felt sure was resting on his rival, he made a show of looking carefully through his books. “No, sir, I can’t find any trace of it?” he finally said, “and I am sure that I have recorded everything, according to your directions. The Cashier looked worried. He knew that Frank’s honesty was unquestionable. But everything seemed to point to Frank as the guilty party. “Well Frank, we have made a thorough search for it before and can’t find it. It throws a suspicion on you. What have you to say.” “Sir,” he answered, “I am absolutely innocent.” “I am sure you are innocent. However, we will have to see Mr. Morganheimer. Somebody must have been a little careless. I cannot see how this turn of affairs could have happened otherwise. You had better come along also, Robert.” he said as they walked toward the president’s office. “Well, what is it?” Mr. Morganheimer asked as he looked up. The Cashier then explained the whole matter to him. The president’s face became grave when the Cashier finished. A look of anxiety, that had swept over his face at hearing the account and seeing his son, gave place to one of hope as he glanced at Frank and felt that he read guilt. “Well, what do you make of the matter?” he asked Mr. Winthrop. “Appearances are against Frank, but I cannot believe he would do anything of such a nature.” Mr. Morganheimer studied for a long time. Meanwhile Frank was as pale as a sheet. Ilis knees shook. Visions of the penitentiary flitted before his eyes. Who could have written this check, and, how had this state of affairs come about? These questions passed through his mind one after the other. Had he forgotten that he had written it? No. Besides, he always kept records of the checks he wrote, and he had none of this one. Had he let somebody else write it and then signed it himself? But, no, he never did that, and his memory was not conscious of doing it. He racked his brain for ways in. which this check could be accounted for and then turned down every one. At last he gave up in utter despair. Then he saw his mother, a widow, weeping for him and hiding her face from the world because of the shame that had come to her innocent son, for she would feel sure he could be nothing but innocent. How she, who had struggled in his boyhood so fiercely to drive the wolf from her door and to keep the 122

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“It is—” Frank’s heart stopped. He looked intensely at the expert, awaiting the final words which would mean “Yes” or “No”. “------ a forgery.” Frank almost jumped for joy. A cry came from the other end of the room. They all turned in that direction. Robert was there. His face was haggard. His hands were tearing his hair. “I forged it,” he groaned. “You,” they all cried. “Yes, I did it to get even.” There was an uncanny pause, only to be interrupted by Mr. Morganheimer who was sitting in his chair half angry and half grieving. “I cannot prosecute my own son. and I cannot allow' anybody else to prosecute him. He will have to leave and I will return the money,” he said as he slowly shook his head. “My signature too? Did you forge that”? “No. This is my first crime. I was jealous—I was mad to do it. Dad, give me one more chance. Let me stay here and I will earn enough to return the money. Just give me one more chance.” “I can’t let you stay here, son, I can’t do it. I-” “Sir, give him another chance. He’ll make good this time.” It was Frank’s voice that interrupted. Mr. Morganheimer was astounded. He couldn’t understand it. He turned to the Cashier. “What do you say, Mr. Winthrop.” “I would advise you to give your son another chauce. He’ll make good this time,” the Cashier slowly answered. “Thank you very much. I will do it.” At the side Frank was struggling with himself. Across his mind flashed the memories of the times he had been slighted by the boy that was now in trouble. Remembrances of the debate. WTill’s letter, and, finally, the forged check, passed in succession across his mind, lie struggled and struggled, now his hate on account of wrongs, and now his generous impulses gained the upper hand. But at last the better side of his nature triumphantly became the conqueror. He walked up to Robert and extended his hand. “Shake.” “Do you really mean it?” Robert asked as he swallowed hard. “Yes,” Frank answered and they clasped hands firmly as a sign of the friendship that was to exist ever afterward. “Well, you’re white,” Robert said with emotion. “I thought that you were my enemy because I was jealous of you, so I wronged you from the start; but now I see clearly that it was I who was in the wrong and your enemy. By your nobility you have totally disarmed me of resentment. In my arrogance I applied a fine sounding epithet to you, which I now recall. “Mercenary,” you are not. You may be able to run a typewriter, but, what is of greater import, you have the ability to run the human machine. Because of your manliness you can control even a college fellow. You’re white, that’s all there is to it.” HERMAN KAPLAN, ’12. 124