Lawrence High School - Lawrencian Yearbook (Cedarhurst, NY)

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8 •THE LAWRENCIAN “Leo Trachman. “Are you married?0 “No.” “Were you a striker? “Yes, I vass.” “Did you know the murdered man? “Yes. “Was he a friend of yours? “Yes, he vass. “Where were you when the murder was committed? “A block avay. Talking to a friend. “Why is it the friend did not see the crime? “His back was turned. “What did you see. A thrill of expectation ran through the courtroom. “I saw Schmidt come oudt of der courthouse. He saw Blennerman, and shtabbed him three times. Der knife was aboudt 8 inches long, like one dot is used to skin a rabbit. Der handle vass decorated with carving. I saw Schmidt with a knife like dot many times. The Attorney for Defense suddenly pointed to the big clock on the opposite wall of the small courtroom and shouted, “What time is it? Quick! The little fat Dutchman stared vaguely at the other wall and mumbled huskily, haltingly, “Vere—is—der—clock? There was a sepulchral silence. Then a roar of laughter. The judge said sternly, “Case dismissed. We will hold the witness on criminal charges. ---------o-------- Some Other Time Dear by W. E. DONOVAN Marion Mitchell, although but nine years of age, had all the hopes in the world of soon becoming a fully capable housewife. One morning she came running down the stairs to the front door where she came upon her mother readjusting a stubborn lock of hair and powdering her nose. “Mother, she asked. “Where are you going? “Out, answered her mother abrptly. “But Mother, dear, you know you promised me you would teach me how to bake a cake today. “I know Marion, but I simply must attend this social meeting if I’m to retain my reputation. “Oh, but Mother, answered the disappointed child, “When will you teach me how? “Some other time dear, some other time. Marion fitchited, “That’s all I ever hear, she mumbled, but her mother’s unheeding ear brought no answer to her remark. The door shut with a “bang and her mother was gone. Marion, with tears in her eyes, turned and started for the back yard

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THE LAWRENCIAN 7 A CASE OF FACTS by S. A. PEYSER It all happened in a German coal mining town in Pennsylvania during a strike. Alvin Blennerman, ring leader, had been murdered. Hermann Schmidt, owner of the mine, had been at the scene of the murder when it happened. Because Schmidt had been ruined by the strike, it was understood he had a plausible motive for the murder. The clerk droned the record of the case: “Alvin Blennerman murdered, March 2, 1922. Hermann Schmidt held. Sole witness, Leo Trachman.” The district attorney announced loudly, “Hermann Schmidt take the stand.' Schmidt was sworn in, and immediately the questioning began. “What is your name?” began the district attorney. “Hermann Schmidt.” “Are you married?” “Yes,” he said in a broken voice. He seemed to reflect. His happy family without a breadwinner. What would happen when he was taken away to prison or—to death. “Where were you at the time of the murder?” “I vass in der court house seeking an inchunction to stop der strike.” “I suppose you realize that the scene of murder was the court.” “Yes.” “You knew Blennerman?” “Certainly, he vass my foreman.” “You liked him?” “After der beginning of der strike I hated him.” “Did you—kill him?” There was a hush. The poor fellow! His world had crashed. He looked miserable. Still, there was only one witness against him, and he still had a little hope. The defense attorney almost protested against the nature of the question. As his assistant I wondered why he did not protest. I nudged him. He did not answer. He seemed to have a flick up his sleeve. At last Schmidt answered the question. He replied, with an effort, “No.” “You may step down. Leo Trachman take the stand.” This was the sole witness. He was a short, stout man with a solemn air of knowing all the facts, which was increased by the old German institution known as the “soup-strainer,” a huge walrus mustache. The clerk swore him in and he took the stand. The spectators in the little court began to whistle and cat-call because they knew and disliked the miner. He became livid. The judge rapped for order, and the court became quiet. The attorney for the defense began cross-examination. “What is your name?”

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THE LAWRENCIAN 9 where she expected Buddy would be playing. A glance from the elevated porch showed the sand box, the teeter board, where he might stand and balance himself above the pivot, the swing and the slide were all vacant. Immediately she conceived her twin must have gone off to the woods by himself. Not a sound broke the silence of that fine early morning. The sun shown down with mild warm rays on the bare legs and arms already tanned from past exposure, and a slight breeze stirred the large maple leaves of the noble trees that afforded such shade on the sweltering hot days of July, yet to come. Slowly, without observing her footsteps, she descended the steps and made her way toward the swing under the huge maple tree. Aimlessly she grasped the ropes and lifted herself, with sturdy little arms, onto the seat. As she swung back and forth. Buddy emerged from the garage, where he had been at work in his workshop with his Daddy's tools. Unseen by the dreaming eyes of Marion he sneaked up behind her. With his head but a fewr inches from her ear he screamed: “Look out for the falling bricks!” Marion ducked her head, dropped off the swung and stood in a crouched position. Buddy hopped onto the swing and in a nonchalant manner sat staring stupidly at space. “Buddy Mitchell, how dare you try to scare me?” Marion cried when she discovered his ruse. “Try?” he asked. “Yes, try,” she answered. Smack! ! ! a resounding slap in the face nearly knocked him off the swing. “Say, what’s the matter with you?” he asked, not appearing to notice the smack that made one side of his face more colorful than the other. “Oh, the same thing again.” Marion answered, all the hostility having fled from her heart. “Mother promised me I could bake a cake today and now she------” “Yes, I know,” Buddy interrupted, “She said, ‘Some other time dear didn’t she?” he asked. “Yes.” “Oh pshaw, what’s there to baking a cake? Why Daddy promised to fix my electric motor and he said the same thing to me.” “Oh nothing to baking a cake, huh?” Marion queried, “perhaps you’d care to try?” “Try? Why it’s nothing, I know- how, I don’t need to try, why I always see mother put some batter in a pan and light the oven and in a little while she takes it out.” “All right,” Marion answered, “Suppose we go right in, I’ll watch you make a cake and I can imagine what a cake that’ll be.” “Oh—er—a—will, that is—” Buddy stammered, all of his youthful boastfulness gone, “Perhaps the maid wouldn’t like it if we dirty all the pots and pans.” “Oh you don’t have to wrorry, this is her day out.” “Oh,” exclaimed Buddy, his last strawr of hope gone. “What do you mean? Oh, come on, fraidy-cat, you’re the one that’s going to be a great cook? Don’t make me laugh!” Into the kitchen they both marched. Out came the flour tin, the mixing bowl, baking pans and butter and eggs. First, flour enough for