Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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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

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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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Att 3nk 5attlrs i)lUi)qitg (Continued from 1911.) H, I’m so glad that it’s Friday night. Maybe I can talk to myself a little while now. I always have to keep quiet during school time for fear of disturbing those studious children in the study-room. I’m afraid I’ll burst one ot these times, because I do so love to talk. I must be very careful what I say these days, for last year, just about this time, I happened to be talking to myself and about a month after I heard some one reading from a green-backed book and they read just what I had said. They called the book an Annual, but I can’t understand what they are talking about half of the time. My! but it does beat all how those kids find things out. Why they even know months beforehand when they are going to have a day or two of vacation. I remember perfectly, how on one bright September day, I heard a boy telling his chum about all the vacations they were going to have that year. He had even figured out on what day school should close in May. Wasn’t he a fine calculator? He must have been at the head of his class in calculus. This is a fine school. Why, they even teach the boys how to yell till their lungs nearly burst. They holler all kinds of things about shakadaroos and shubygaboos, until I hardly know where I am. I think I’ll be a stationary dictionary soon, for every day I hear about half a dozen different spelling lessons. The other day I found out what I was. Two girls were learning the definitions of their spelling words. Two of the definitions went right home to me, and they stayed there too. They were mighty high-sounding words that I thought only dignified professors and some members of the faculty would know anything about. It seems almost sacrilegious to hear those little children, (“Flats” as some of the older ones call them), roll forth those magnificent, soul inspiring, hair-raising, blood curdling, harmonious words, just as if they were silver-tongued orators. (My but I’m glad that’s gone). Those large words nearly choke me, because I hear so many of them every day, and I can’t repeat them. Well, as I was saying to myself some time ago, I heard these two grand words which seemed to adhere to my mind as closely as sticky flypaper sticks to a black, cross-eyed cat in summer time. The first little girl piped in a little voice, “Say, do you know the definitions of optimist and pessimist? They sound so much alike that I don’t know which definition belongs to which word. Do you know what they are, Sadie?” Then midget number two piped up in her little, wee voice and said, “Well, I think I do, Bessie. You know our teacher counts the missing of one definition as two words, and do you think I want to join the 3:15 Spelling Club? Well, I think not! The members meet every Tuesday afternoon after school and have awful jolly good times, but I’d rather go home than go out at night, and buy ice-cream and peanuts, the way all big girls do. It’s just grand. You ought to try it some time. I tell you what we’ll do, Sadie. I’ll call for you next Sunday evening, and we’ll go to Elmer’s and buy ice-cream, and then