Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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THE EASTERNER 13 Blackmail (A Story Concerning the Mixing of Love and Business.) By Donatp A. Crate, Jx., 29 “Blackmail; (1) the extortion of money by threats of exposure or unfavorable comment in the press.” (New Century Dictionary.) Bob Deane was a cub reporter on the Times- Herald. The salary of a cub reporter on the Times-Herald would have satisfied the needs of any normal young man, providing, of course, he did not fall in love. Bob had vio- lated that provision, however, and was feeling the effects very severely. To make matters worse, he had chosen as the object of his af- fections a blond stenographer. Naturally, as it was nearing Christmas, he had gallantly asked her what she most desired from old St. Nicholas. The adored one, just as naturally, replied that she “was just crazy about a cer- tain bee-oo-tiful wrist watch they had seen on F street—in the window of Berry-Whitmores, wasn’t it?” Upon inquiry it was learned that said watch could be had for the trifling sum of $68.35. With such an introduction the reader will readily understand why we find the rather sad and hopeless expression on our hero’s face as he sat at his desk on the morning of December 24. Scattered across his desk were numerous sheets of copy paper, some covered with fig- ures ; some, with only a mark or two, had been crumpled as if the writer had thrown them aside in disgust (which was, in this case, more truth than poetry). While seated thus he was summoned to the office of the Magazine Editor. “Bob,” began the editor, “here’s a chance for a good Sunday story. If I get the story by tomorrow night, it’ll mean $35 to you. By the way, mail these letters as you go out, will you?” Mechanically Bob walked out of the office, took his hat from the rack, and went out to mail the letters. The box had clanked a sec- ond time before he fully realized what had hap- pened—that he, a cub reporter, had been as- signed a Sunday story; that he, Bob Deane, was getting $35 clear and above his salary. “Well, I’ll be d—d!” he exclaimed, much to the surprise and disgust of two old ladies who were mailing postal cards, “there must be a Santa Claus after all!’ The library of Mr. Willard McCormick’s town house at Sixteenth and Allegheny Ave- nue forms the natural background for the next scene of our narrative, since it is about this gentleman that the aforementioned Sun- day story revolved. Therefore we turn the reader’s attention to this room before the ar- rival of the hero. A rather heated argument was taking place. The principals were Messrs. Willard McCor- mick, Junior and Senior, owners of the Mc- Cormick Sock Mills. “This thing must be kept secret, I tell you!” the younger man was exclaiming, amid much waving of arms and other gyrations with which he felt it necessary to impress his adversary. “T am manager of this firm, am I not?” “Very true, very true, I may have retired. But that is no reason why I should stand by and see the business run into the ground!” re- turned the elder. “And let me tell you, if you persist in this foolishness, I’ll tell the first re- porter I see about this whole affair.” (Continued on page 34)

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THE EASTE 12 RNER Horses By Mary ORIE All my life I had wanted to ride horseback. There were several reasons for this desire. The society debutantes in the Sunday supple- ment look so aristocratic; riding habits do make one appear so chic; last and by far most important, how can a handsome hero rescue one from the back of a runaway horse if one never rides? Knowing these various advan- tages of the equestrian art, I determined to make the most of my opportunities at camp. Each morning at breakfast the names of those who were to ride that day were read. Finally my turn came. At the appointed time another camper and I met our one instructor with three horses. “Now you take Brownie. Follow me. We shall go to the Oval,” she said to me. I had heard much of him. He was a single-footer. However, I could count four feet—something queer. I gingerly gripped the reins and got as far away from him as possible. For some unknown reason, he seemed to develop a great fondness for my tie. He continued to eye it appreciatively and advanced toward it smilingly. Not wishing to offend him openly, I diverted his attention by throwing a stone in the bushes, meanwhile sur- teptitiously tucking my tie out of sight. At last we reached the Oval. “You will have to go on the other side to mount,” I was in- Brownie! y but suddenly, Hy, Ker, 27 : as, which would be formed. The sie Aa or in the rear of worse, to 80 eats he had no eyes in the dear Brownie! d, I decided on that as the bet- back of his veal his heels looked diabolical, ter route, altho ee papiiecelaier) (Taye eee ddle. Grippi . fry, 1 gained the saddle. Gripping With hel 4 both hands, I surveyed the sur- his mane Ger thoughtfully. The ground, see looked unnecessarily devoid of noticed sadly. ; the fray began, I am at loss to explain, without receiving the least notice, heaval beneath me. Blackie, d impolite beast, seemed to have taken the greatest ees to my steed, Brownie. Moreover, it didn’t interest him in the least to know that I was rocking desper- Brownie’s back. In fact, he seemed Ki and coldly to ignore me altogether, ee They kicked! : They kicked! They bit! I gave a last despairing cry, but to no avail. I was slipping. I had slipped. I reposed upon the hard ground beneath their raging hoofs. I gave up all hope and surren- dered to the inevitable. Help, however, ar- rived. I was rescued, but, instead of from on a horse, from under a horse. Was this the ro- mance of which I dreamed? What a ridicu- lous picture I should have made for a Sunday paper! As for looking chic—I can laugh now. My right leg had been kicked; my arms were scratched and bruised. But, worst of all, the skin had been scraped from the bridge of my nose! “Are you killed?” they inquired solicitously. I arose and replied: “I never felt better in my life. On with the fight!” The next time I rode, I chose a large, kind- looking animal named Whitie. He had such nice, understanding eyes. Alas, he understood too well! My timidity must have showed in the way I lovingly touched his brow, for no (Continued on page 32) grass, I How I felt a general up a most malicious an' ately on

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aS é (B Editor’s Note: This is the first of a Bee a ters to be published for history Sut ne Aste the letters of A. Nutt, famous poe : positivelY ss relics. We them included kage of fish that the cow jumped over the moon. the first publication of these pricele challenge you to find the information in in any history—and will award a pac food to the person who does. June 3, 2127. London, England, Dearest Annie: I am sorry not to have written you before, but I have been in a rather embarassing POs!” tion. I was arrested for speeding across iis new Atlantic bridge—the one connecting New York and London—and was compelled to spend the night in one of the police stations on the bridge, out in the middle of the ocean. It ies so annoying to have to go back to New York the next morning to appear in court, when I had want ed to reach London before dark! When I finally was dismissed from court (minus $10) I found it was too late to make the journey to London before nightfall, and so I decided to take a little ride in my plane as I needed air, I flew over to Hollywood, Cal., a pleasant little spin of about an hour, and dropped in at the studio to see my old college chum, “Rats” Cheesam. “Rats” is the movie sheik with the evil black eyes and the shiny hair. His stage name is Angelo Sappechi. Business was dull at the studio and so “Rats” invited himself out for a ride with me. He was in a musical mood, and had a bad cold—always a bad combination. “Rats” tells me that the new railway to Mars is a wonder. Of course, the trains leave only twice a day from both ends, but the business is growing. The day “Rats” went they were delayed at the moon with engine trouble, and so he got out and walked around. Perhaps that’s why he’s been mooning so mushily in his pictures lately. Not much at Mars yet, “Rats” says—only a few summer resorts and trading posts: but the planet has great possibilities. Next week, I think, I shall take the morning Mars “Rats’” descriptions have jp. train to i build a laborat Perhaps I can Ory trigued me tie Lovingly, ALBERT. Googoo, Mars, July 10, 2127, ; nnie: ; Bae fa some thrilling adventures this ni week. temporary laboratory here in Googoo ay a ae of the entire solar system, I happened to glance up from e Goldfish as a Beast of Prey,” f people moving about on the commands This morning as my study of “Th J saw a swarm 0 xt to Mars. ae aie Sidyiot goldfish psychology impos- sible while these beings flickered back and forth in the light, I locked up my laboratory and sallied forth to investigate. ; It seems that the British and Chinese both claim this star, and, after submitting the dis- pute to arbitration, they decided they couldn’t wait for the decision because the star is sched- uled to pass Mars this month and then swing to the other side of the universe—to return here about four thousand years hence; so each country wants to make sure of it before it goes, Annie, I feel elated at being so close to an event that will go down in history! I wonder what the outcome will be? Last night I attended a dance given by the Y. M. C. A. in Bolognaville. I had a very pleasant evening, for I met Professor Smugg, of London, and we discussed monocotyledons and ancient Martian fossils. I also danced with his stepsister—a few airplane whirls and comet capers, with a Charleston to rest on and recover the breath and equilibrium. My work goes on as usual, but I manage to get three hours of sleep every night, as you or- dered me to do. It’s a great life, if you don’t weaken. Love, ALBERT. RurtH BELL, ’28.