Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

Page 11 text:

OAK, LILY AND IVY. 9 Ghost of 13, Just as patrolman Moore sent in the midnight call at Box 13, a shot rang out in the darkness. Moore dropped with scarcely a struggle, the bullet entering his hack and finding lodgment in his heart while his hand slipped from the hook with which he had just sent in the “all right” signal. The locality was a tough one and as Moore had arrested more than one law¬ breaker, each in turn had promised vengeance when his term was over. The thing predicted now occurred. Two hours later the roundsman found him laying in a pool of his own blood. An alarm was sent in to headquarters and soon the patrol with reserves arrived on the scene. A search of the surroundings offered no clue to the murderer and after a little, the case was given up. Soon another man was put on Moore’s beat, and the calls were sent in, the same as usual. One morning Larson, the new man, was called upon to explain why he had not sent in the call from Box 13 that night. “I did send in the call,” answered Larson in reply to the accusation. “If you did the recorder failed to note it,” said the sergeant grimly. “Why I sent in that call just as sure as I’m standing here,” replied the man, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing the sergeant. “Oh, come now, cut that! You know you didn’t send in that call. I guess you were afraid of Moore’s ghost,” rejoined the sergeant as he walked out of the room. Later, Larson was able to prove that the call had been sent in, therefore the box was overhauled. The patrolman spurred on by the sergeant’s taunt about Moore’s ghost gave evidence of the superstition in all mankind and fought shy of going on that beat. One night about three weeks after the murder of Moore a call came from the “hoodoo” box; the call was one of alarm and soon all the officers were being driven in the patrol team to the scene of action. As the vehicle dashed up to the box, not a person was in sight. The sergeant, very angry, looked about for the patrolman, but found that at the time the call had been sent in, Larson must have been blocks away. As time passed on, the calls from Box 13 became more and more frequent and each false. In a short time this sort of unaccountable alarm calling, began to wear on the nerves of the men. The calls came mostly at night and yet nobody was ever seen to pull a call. At last the sergeant became desperate and had a man stationed nearby to watch the box. No one came near, but in the morning he found two calls registered. The sergeant could stand it no longer; not a patrolman would go on that beat. That next night he stationed a group of policemen around the cursed box. The night was one of the worst of the year. A heavy rain was falling, driven by the howling wind as it shrieked mournfully through the tossing trees. The men hid themselves as best they could, some behind rocks, others in the shelter of tree trunks. The first part of the night passed uneventfully, the solitude broken only by the moaning of the wind or the creak of one branch rubbing against another. It was about midnight; Hogan, cold, stiff, and weary, crouching behind his bolder, suddenly saw a large white figure approaching through the swirling darkness. The form was advancing when a buzz which denoted an alarm call, came from the box. A shiver passed through Hogan’s body. He could swear that the object was not within fifteen feet of the box, yet the call had been sent in. As the appari¬ tion came nearer he crouched low behind his protection. Once again the buzz, from the haunted box!

Page 10 text:

s OAK, LILY AND IVY. friends lived, in fact, they were acquainted. She said they had lived in the house where I first inquired, but moved away over a year ago to Brooklyn and said if I would have lunch with her, she would go with me to their latest address. “I thanked her, but declined both invitation and offer to escort me, because I was to go that afternoon to visit the Zoo with my cousin. When I arrived home, they were going from one window to the other looking for me. They thought I. surely was lost. I told them I was all right, but it was John Smith and his family who were lost. I don’t believe 1 shall try again, to find anyone, especially in New York, unless I know exactly where they live.” G. E. K. ’ 13 . The Eternal Problem. The principal figure in this narrative is a common, ordinary, twentieth-century boy, who still exists, and expects to live for some time to come. He attended high school and among his studies was English. This boy did not dislike English, neither did he especially care for it, although the writing of the weekly theme did not usually present any terrors to him. But one week, the teacher informed the class that the next theme must be a narrative, and that did disturb him, for narratives suggested by his own life were not in his line. He thought over the things he had done, with the result that he concluded he must have lived an extremely “tame” life. To be sure, he had been to Boston, and farther, but he had written about trips, until he was heartily tired of the word “trip.” Narrow es¬ capes were apparently not his lot, for, with the exception of having a grindstone nearly fall upon him, there was no other accident which he could remember. Next he turuned his attention to fictitious subjects, but the greater writers seemed to have monopolized all possibilities in this line, and if he used himself as the hero of such a theme, embarassing explanations might be forthcoming. His mind had apparently rebelled. In vain did he try to think of something which would do for that troublesome theme; but the more he thought the worse things became, and his mind finally faded to a blank on the subject. How inconsistent of his un¬ ruly brain to balk on such a simple thing as a theme, even if he did detest writing narratives! Must he give up like aristocratic people who have nervous prostra¬ tion, and professors whose brains have become foggy through overstudy? Surely he was not aristocratic, nor had he ever studied more than was good for him! At last, he decided that his fussy mental machine wanted some fresh air; to battle with it further was impossible, so he decided to arbitrate, and forthwith took a walk. He soon forgot his troubles while looking for his friends, and was consequently happy; but his joy was short-lived, for that awful nightmare,-Nar¬ rative, exhibited its hideous countenance before his frightened eyes. His step dragged, his joy fled, changing his happy walk into a semi-funeral march. When at last he found himself at home, he sat down to his work, and suddenly a possibility revealed itself to him. With a great deal of doubt as to the outcome, he wrote this theme,—“The Eternal Problem—what shall I write?” A Freshman.

Page 12 text:

IO OAK, LILY AND IVY. Suddenly summoning up courage he hurled himself at the unearthly object. A struggle followed in which the sergeant was victor. As he sat astride the van¬ quis hed, he yelled, “I’ve got him, hoys, I’ve, got the ghost.” “You have like fun,” grunted the form beneath him, “I’m the night linesman on this line. Get off me, you’ve got my raincoat all mud.” “If you’re a night linesman, explain why you sent in those calls,” said Hogan. “Me pull in the-” He got no further, for at that moment a loud buzz came from the box and yet not a person was within ten feet of it. The men looked at each other in amaze¬ ment ; surely the box was haunted. For a moment the linesman looked perplexed, then slappmg his knee, began to laugh so heartily that he could hardly stand. This was a second surprise for the men and they hardly knew whether to jump on him or whether the wierdness of the thing had unbalanced his mind. When the linesman had somewhat subsided his merriment, he gasped, “I know where the g host is.” “Where?” asked the startled group. Walking to a nearby man-hole lie turned and pointed to it. “This,” he an¬ nounced, “is the ghost of that box. Tonight as I came by, I was looking for a large leak in an electric cable. Perhaps as you know, a piece of steel charged with electricity becomes a powerful magnet. “Thus as the man-hole attracted the electricity it became magnetized.” “But how does that explain the ghost of this Box 13?” “As the man-hole became mag¬ netized, the steel lever in your box was attracted and pulled down; the cable being a night cable, hence the midnight calls, and thus the solution of the mystery of Box 13, gentlemen.” George Caldicott, T4. How Bobbie Found Santa Claus. Bobbie was tired, and he wished Daddy would come, and he just knew that Rose was looking for him. Early that morning he had rushed ahead of Rose, his pretty nurse-maid, and right into Daddy’s arms. And Daddy had held him tight, so tight that he had hurt, and then Bobbie thoughtfully rubbed his little side to see if there wasn’t at least one sore spot left, so he could show big brother, Jack, whom he had never seen; but he mournfully shook his head as he found none. He wondered what Jack was like, and if he would play horse with him. He had asked Rose if all the little boys would have a big brother come just the same as he was going to, and in the next hreath, he wondered what Jack had in his bundle for him. Daddy had said that Jack was on the sea, and he knew what that was ’cause he had seen it last summer. Suddenly he had thought that .Santa Claus would not know that Jack was coming, and he wouldn’t get any Christmas presents. He thought he would ask mother about it, ’cause he guessed she would know, for she- knew ’most anything. So Rose had taken him downstairs, but first she had called down and said that they were coming. He wondered why she had done that, for when they came downstairs, no one was about, until Daddy had come out of the nursery, with his coat off, and looking all mussed up. Bobhie had asked mother, but Daddy said she was busy, and that Bobbie could go out in the playhouse, Bobbie didn’t want to, but he let Rose bundle him up and then she carried him through the snow to the little house at the end of the lane. But everybody was acting queerly today, and now when he wanted somebody to play with most of all,