High School of Commerce - Tradesman Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 10 text:

THE TRADESMAN NOTHING BUT HOKUM REEL ONE Boneheads Both Brasstop Bones, the wonder sleuth-the wonder comes from the pub- lic's letting him live-and none other than I were seated in our chairless fiat, saturating our tonsils with some Anti-Volstead stuff which Brasstop, in his role of detective, had confiscated. Being a detective has its ad- vantages. I was perusing one of Rafael Sabatini's worst crimes, entitled, The Feather Pushersu and Bones was with difficulty digesting an authoritative work on What the Well Blessed Sleuth Should 'Ware', and trying to look intelligent at the same time. He found it hard work. Coming to a par- ticularly complicated paragraph in a chapter headed: Where to Find Clues When There Aren't Any, he soon became hopelessly lost in a long contortion of many-syllabled, meaningless words. I-Ie heaved a heavy sigh, which was echoed by our phone. I Bones instinctively reached for his revolver, but remembering that it was empty-clue to the fact that he had emptied the six bullets in a traf- fic cop's body that day-he placed it back in his shoe. Answer the phone! he snarled. I did. I-Ie1lo! quoth I. A sweet, gentle voice, reeking of garlic and delivered with force enough to make the receiver tremble, smote my ear. Izis Mr. Bones speaking? I grew hot under the collar. To be inistaken for Bones, that human mis- take, that menace to civilization, thati. It was an insult! UNO! I roared. UNO!! Disease! NO! Bones leapt up, kicked my feet from under me, and grappled with the phone. Soon the wire was burning with his alleged English, which is of the crushed variety. ' 'TI-Iallo . . . Yeh, this Nowhere 123456789 . . . TI-IE Mr. Bones Speak- ing . . . Huh? . . . alright . . . sure . . . s'lunk, nobody! He hung up, and turned to me, eager-faced. QI-Evidently, he saw a chance for a free feed.j A mystery! he said briskly and slipped before the bureau, looking keenly into the mirror thereon, which cracked for the third time. CI-Ie had only used it twice beforej 1 With the skill of a Commerce student disguising himself as a female for a Commerce Revue, he slipped on a wig and false beardg not to men- tion a false noseg darkened his skin with a mysterious concoction of ba- nana-oil and applesauceg went into several convulsions behind the bureau, and finally crawled out from under the carpet, disguised in a fashion that would have made the astute Mr. Nicholas Carter shoot one of his innum- erable assistants, just out of pure pique. I-Ie jammed on his derby, grabbed three revolvers. snatched a sword- cane, and wrapped his mitts about a few bottles of poison. So did I, with the addition of a knife slipped down the back of my neck. For both Bones and I are firm believers in Napoleonis famous outburst A pound of pre- vention is worth 1000 pounds of policemen. 8

Page 9 text:

THE TRADESMAN When Bill was going out to the Post Office, his stomach felt anything but pleasant, and he felt that he must have absorbed several old fish from the envelopes. One of the workers noticed him and asked if he was sick. Bill gave the reason for his trouble and instead of gaining sympathy he heard a roar of laughter. Why, you poor simp, said his questioner. Why didn't you ask some- body for a sponge. No wonder you feel sick. Bill reported then next night and went through with his work all right, but it was very tiresome and he was glad to get home at night. For the rest of the two weeks Bill worked hard and when he got his ten dollars he felt very proud. The night of the show Bill dressed himself up and went down town to the place where his girl said she would meet him. She arrived only half an hour late and they went to the theatre. Two of the best seats, said Bill proudly. Standing room only, was the answer. If you wanted seats you should have reserved them. Bill relayed the terrible news to his girl, who gave him one look and said, If you think that I'm going to stand, you're mistaken. I think you planned the whole thing so you wouldn't have to buy seats. You can stand if you want to, but I'm going home. As she departed, Bill stared after her dumbfounded. O, well, I might as well make the best of it,', and turning to the ticket office he said, One standing room. LOST By I. F. Houghton, '27, Elizabeth gazed around. Above her rose great sky-scrapers. All around her was the life of New York. Elizabeth was lost in the great city of New York. She was frightened, for she could not speak. She had been dumb since the day of her birth. Elizabeth had wandered around the great city all day long, and now as night was coming on she began to be really frightened. One can easily realize her situation, She had not eaten since noon the day previous. The swaying mob on all sides of Elizabeth seemed to overwhelm her. Tears rose in her eyes and a great lump began to develop in her pale throat. Not one of those thousands bestowed as much as a glance at her. She felt miserable. At least all of these people had a place to go to at night and a bite of food waiting at home for them. Elizabeth came to a doorway. She felt very tired and so she sat down. After watching the surging crowd move on this way and that, she fell asleep. When she woke up Elizabeth found herself in a lady's arms. Oh you poor little thing, the lady said, where have you been all this time ? Elizabeth's eyes became watery. She had at last got home. It was owing to a young newsboy who on the previous night had found Elizabeth asleep in a doorway. He saw Elizabeth's collar on which was her mistress' name and address and an inscription which read, Whoever finds this dog, please return to the above address and receive a reward. The newsboy had received the reward of 31.00 and Elizabeth returned home none the worse for her experience. 7

Page 11 text:

THE TRADESMAN Then we slipped down the trembling stairs-almost as bad as those in front of the State House of Incorrection-with great caution, but Bones -may his tribe decrease-slipped and fell upon the stairs, and the stairs, unable to stand beneath the fall, collapsed like a house of cards, hurling Bones and me upon the floor. By some miracle the Hoor did not give way, but stood fairly firm beneath the impact. Stumbling to my feet, and letting loose some sulphurous language, I Ttaggered through the door, and into the waiting bus, a product of Ford's iumor. Bones, who had alighted upon his bean-and was, therefore, uninjured, cranked the benzine buggy, and hopped in beside me, nimbly clearing the door which didn't exist. The machine woke up-it actually did, occasionally--and we were off in a cloud of dust and a rattle of loosely jointed machinery. Why, I bellowed above the din caused by our laboring chariot-it knocked worse than a politician describing a rival candidate- Why did you tell me to answer the phone, and then do it yourself ? Just caution! roared Bones, his voice mingling with the curses of a lamp-post leaner, whose support had been knocked from under him by our ambitious bus. I thought some of my enemies might be trying to kill me by telephone, so, knowing you would be glad to take the risk, I asked you to answer. When nothing happened I took it myself-your stupidity would have given our would-be client a poor opinion of our efficiency. REEL TWG Hidden Clues in No Man's Land Bones headed our product of Ford's eccentric imagination towards the great Narrow Spaces, Where Men Are Men and Murder a pastime . . . that is to say, South Boston. We soon arrived at the jungles of South Boston--a live mile trip com- pleted in the snappy time of three hours. Reaching one of the best streets -the car could barely manage the ruts and hills-the machine stopped of its own will before something which bore a faint resemblance to a house. I fell off the car from my position on the spare tire. where I had been ever since a part of the car fell off two minutes after we had started upon our epic trip. Bones politely kicked open the door of the house, and we stalked in, while in the streets echoed the screams of some unfortunate being put to death-which is the genial South Bostoner's idea of a nice time. We were greeted by a bimbo whose face was hidden behind a tangled outgrowth of wiry hair, he gave the impression of a wild animal lurking behind the shrubbery. His very appearance did much to convince me of the possibility of Darwinls theory. Hello, said Bones, I am TI-IE Mr. Bones, and this --he kicked me on the shins- is my assistant, MacAroni. Now, just whatls the trouble ? The other tore his hairg the false wig fell off. My namef' he sobbed, is Peter Pickle, and my rat-trap -a tear fell from his glass eye- hath been stolen! I-Ia! Ah! I-Ia-ah ! quoth Bones, trying to look wise-a difficult task. . Say,,' queried Peter gently, reaching for a baseball bat. Why this haw-haw stuff, you--? 9