Lancaster High School - Mirage Yearbook (Lancaster, OH)

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mills. All through the recital Jack had sat without moving a muscle, although he knew this was the end of all his hopes. At the entrance of the guide the super- intendent rose and said lie would accom- pany the guide and the visitors. All through the great mills went the trio, the superintendent explaining to the detective the use of each machine. At last they entered the weaving depart- ment where the great looms with their hundreds of bright, darting shuttles were working away almost noiselessly. As the detective passed up the aisle between the machines his notice was at- tracted by the beautiful face of a young girl who sat at a loom. Two braids of glossy, chestnut hair hung down her back and as she talked to her neighbor, they swung perilously near the flying machinery. The detective started forward to warn her, when a piercing scream rent the air and he stood still unable to move. What he had feared had happened. One braid of hair had caught in the shuttle and was slowly drawing the beautiful head into the machine. A quick thinker is an actor. The sup- erintendent darted forward. In a mo- ment he had reached the great motor which drove the machinery and had cut off the current. Darting back to the girl he grabbed her working shears and in a moment had cut the braid, letting her loose. Everyone crowded about the fright- ened girl. The superintendent still stood by the loom whose bright, darting shuttles, as they were slowing down, held him with a strange fascination. Glanc- ing about to see that no one was look- ing, he dropped his hands in between the sharp needles and fell fainting to the floor, the last proof of his guilt gone. Chai»tkr V. Jones went back to New York alone. He went immediately to his chief’s office. Entering, he stood before Chief Barnes, waiting for his superior to speak. “Well, Jones, what luck?” “First, chief, I want to tell you this is my last case. I’m no longer a detec- tive.” Then he told his story. When he had finished he sat sobbing like a child. “There, there, boy, you did the right thing. So the finger prints were com- pletely ruined? Did he lose any fing- ers ?” “No, chief, but every bone was broken, and his hands will always be covered with those horrible scars.” “Why didn’t you let him alone when you found him as he was? Why did you make him pay such a penalty?” “Because, chief, you told me that our slogan was: ‘Never return without your man’.” AfTKRWORD. Chief Barnes is still on the hunt for criminals. In a few years lie will retire and some younger man will take his place with that sentence ever before him, “Never return without your man.” Jack is still at the bead of his mills. Ilis life is a happy one for he has no fear. He has a beautiful wife and fam- 12 ily, is loved and respected by all, is wealthy and care-free. Jones resigned from the New York Police Force and is now with Jack who says he is the best foreman in the mills. Yes, dear readers, lie married the beau- tiful girl from the mills, but that’s an- other story.

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with his hat. He was Jones, the man who never failed. “You remember the Brown case?” asked the chief. “Yes.” “Go and get him. Here are the pa- pers and reports. Get the Bertillion measurements and finger prints and re- member our slogan, ‘Never return with- out your man.’ ” So Jones took up the chase. A year passed and finally he located his man. But what a man, so different from what he had expected to find! Here the man whom he was seeking to take back to New York city to face a criminal’s pun- ishment, was the biggest man in a Southern manufacturing town, the rich- est man in the district, loved and re- spected by all and virtually the owner of all the manufacturing industries in the town—a man whom everybody loved and called on in time of need, knowing that they would not be refused help. This was a man with a family. His wife was the most beautiful woman the detective had ever seen. His children the sweetest and prettiest imaginable. What a beautiful picture it made and how changed it would all be if Jones took back his man! Had his man been the ordinary crim- inal, poor, unsuccessful, cowardly and uneducated, he would not have hesitated a minute, but as it was, Jones was up against a blank wall. What should he do? The money taken had been paid back and no one had lost anything. But the loss to the people of this Southern community by the taking away of their head would be immeasurably great. ( haptkr IV. After a few days in the city Jones called on Jack at his office. He told Jack he was a New Yorker looking for an investment, and would like to look over the mills. Jack told the detective that he also, originally came from New Yorl City, but that he had not been back since he was a very young man. For quite a while they talked over familiar places in the great metropolis. Finally conversation lagged and Jones remarked, “I heard a pathetic tale this morning when I was coming in on the train. I was riding with a detective from our city who was down here looking for a man, who years ago embezzled five thousand dollars. The man is now wealthy, loved and respected by all, the owner of some great mills like vours, a great leader of men. In some way he has changed his Bertillion measurements so that he can- not be identified by them. But. still there 11 is another way by which they can know their man. “A short time before he left New York it was found that no two men’s finger prints were alike. By taking the finger prints of a suspect on paper and dusting chalk over them every line shows clearly and these are compared with copies of the finger prints of the man, which are held at the headquarters office. The man wanted in this case, of course, had left his finger prints on the books he worked on, on his desk and in hundreds of places. “The plain clothes man doesn’t want to take him back for his loss would mean much to his community. But what can lie do? As you probably know the New York police slogan is ‘Never re- turn without vour man !’ ” Just then the visitors’ guide came in to show the detective through the great

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Mftmu WmjUutd a pg On a little farm crossed by the main line of the K. Z. H. H., dwelt the Widow Wayland. Childless, she had only her- self and her farm to look after. Kach year she raised a pig, only to butcher it in the fall, thus obtaining her meat sup- ply for the winter. Thereby hangs my tale. .Just as the tracks of the K. Z. line passed the front gate of the Widow Wayland’s place, they started on a sharp up-grade and many a wet, stormy night, when the rails glistened with wa- ter, long freights had trouble making this grade. One day in mid-summer, Widow Wayland’s pig escaped from his sty and after wandering aimlessly about for some time enjoying his new-found lib- erty, he hit the railroad track and began to count ties. The Limited was just due. It was on time. It came. It passed. There was one frightened squeal and then—pork dropped. Yes, that pork- er at least dropped, and in small pieces along about a hundred yards of rail- road. Imagine the widow’s anguish if you can, when she found her winter’s meat supply gone and pork selling at the highest price in years! Imagine, if you can, her feeling of grief over the loss of her sole companion, and her revengeful spirit against the railroad! Dressed in her best black, the widow drove to town and went directly to the railroad station. Here she went in to confer with the ticket agent. Loudly she told him of her loss and asked for a set- tlement of fifty dollars at once. He ex- plained to her that her complaint must go to headquarters, so he made out the blank and sent it in while the widow left feeling that a settlement would be made. A week passed with no word from the railroad. So the widow drove to town again. This time the agent asked her into his office and then told her that her claim had been refused at headquarters. Without a word she left and drove slowly home. That night the westbound freight came thundering along, gathering the necessary speed to go over the grade at Wayland’s. Already the freight was fifteen minutes late and holding up the eastbound flyer at C'rawfis. Suddenly the engineer gave the whistle a blast, and shut his air brakes tight, jarring the long line of cars into a sudden stop. Brakcmen came running forward to find out the trouble. “I’ve run over a man,” gasped the engineer. Flashing their lanterns here and there the brakcmen soon found the innocent cause of the trouble. It was an old suit of clothes and a soft hat, stuffed with straw which lay, cut in two parts by the wheels and to its breast was pinned a piece of paper on which was written: i xcant me $50, pay me or i’ll make trouble for you all. i’ll stop your trains from running. Widow Wayland.