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

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24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. prison, and felt the cool breezes as they swept in from the sea. He approached the bridge railing and peered over as countless others had done before him. Slowly the desire to plunge into the deep black water crept over him, and as this feeling numbed his mind, things that might have happened suggested themselves. Why hadn’t that old fogy of a musical director at home retired? What did he want with more money? Oughtn’t he give someone else a chance? Even these questions brought back the idea of returning home to the old job and Peg, who had so earnestly pleaded with him not to leave. Would he ever forget her as she was the night before he left? Her creamy skin silhouetted against the dark mahogany of the piano, her slender legs swing¬ ing back and forth, and her lips parted in a smile that together with her eyes reflected the affectionate interest she had in him. With all his love, would his haughty pride allow him to return to her a failure? No! A thousand times, No! But why waste time considering these silly questions? Why not end it all now? And this, it seemed to his distorted mind, was the easiest way. Could that impene¬ trable void have any more trials and cares than his present existence? As this feeling began to dominate him, a counter response arose and he was conscious of a desire, of a need, to return to the rooming house. Something seemed to be drawing him there. Finally giving in, he wended his way over the bridge onto the main walk. But that something seemed to impel him to greater speed and his ambling gait changed to a steady, brisk walk. As he neared familiar streets, this feeling grew and he found himself in a frenzied sweat, turning from his now half trot to a panting run, as his house loomed into view. He ran up the stairs and into the hall. Groping for his mail slot, he sensed a gnawing doubt. Perhaps this impulse had been nothing but the result of a distraught mind, but as his fingers closed on an envelope, all uncertainty fled. As he fumbled for a match it seemed ages before the soft gas light filled the room. He gazed at the telegram. Tearing open the yellow envelope, he read aloud: “New theatre finished Thursday. You have been appointed musical director. Come at once.”—Peg. As the paper fluttered to the floor, Joyce Tramway realized that a kind and watchful God had once more assumed the directorship of his affairs. Lyman P. Callery, ’27. THE TIN BOX. Philip Stark went back to his hotel with a tin box under his arm. He would like to have entered the hotel without being observed, but this was impossible, for the land-lord’s nephew was just closing up. Though not late for a city, it was very late for the country, and he looked surprised when Stark came in. “I am out late,” said Stark, with a smile. “Yes.” “That is late for Milford. In the city I never go to bed before midnight.” “Have you been out walking?” “Yes.” “You couldn’t have found the walk a pleasant one.” “You are right, my friend, but I didn’t walk for pleasure. The fact is, I am rather worried about a business matter. I have learned that I am threatened

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 THE POWER BEYOND CONTROL. Joyce Tramway felt the steady pressure of each stair as he trudged up to his room, denoting to his tired brain that his shoes were in need of repair, and he in¬ stinctively shoved his hand into his pocket, finding nothing but a small, round hole. Arriving in his room he dropped into a chair and as he relaxed his fatigued body, the events of the past six months flashed through his mind. Six months ago, he had been a contented department store clerk, until one night after hours, a late purchaser hearing him play the department piano, stopped to listen. Joyce had felt the man’s presence, and when he finished, he swung around on the stool. “Young man, you have great talent,” exclaimed the gentleman. “Why are you here?” “Well, sir, one cannot advance without opportunity.” Further conversation ensued, and the gentleman had finally given Joyce his card with the request to look him up some day. That night Joyce showed the card to his youthful companion, Peg. “Gee, Peg, but wouldn’t I like the chance to make good. Have you ever heard of this Mr. Jennings?” “Why, of course, Joyce. He is the instructor at the large Conservatory in Sennott.” For a few weeks things went along much the same as usual, but the seed had been sown and each day Joyce’s discontent had grown until he had finally left for the big city. Arriving there, he went to the Professor’s home, only to be told that the latter had left four days before for Europe. Unknown and inexperienced, Joyce had been able to receive only part time theatre jobs. These few bright spots plus his deep pride had prevented him from returning home. His dreaming was abruptly ended by a sharp knock at the door. He roused himself and on the threshold encountered his sour-faced landlady. “Well—when did you get back, Dreamy?” “Just about five minutes ago,” as he evaded the woman’s stare. “Well—?” she demanded. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Trent, but my efforts were fruitless, and if you would only-” “Say, you young whippersnapper—if I don’t have that three week’s room rent by tomorrow at five, you may as well book lodging with the park pigeons,” and with this ultimatum she withdrew. As he turned back, Joyce’s glance rested on an old vest thrown over a chair. With a purely impulsive action he searched the pockets and found at last silver amounting to thirty-five cents. Not much, but at least enough for supper. Pulling his thread-bare cap down over his curly and unruly brown hair, he slipped from the lodging house and continued on to the gleaming lights of the corner restaurant with a new light in his now sparkling steel gray eyes, that transformed his former melancholy expression to one of pleasant expectancy. Finding himself almost at the door, he felt for the change to reassure himself. Not finding it in the lefthand pocket, he explored the right, but was rewarded only with that forgotten hole as a mute reminder of the trail of his money. Overwhelmed by the irony of the situation he did not notice where his feet led him until he reached the bridge connecting the city with its famous island

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 with a heavy loss—an unwise investment in the West—and I wanted time to think it over and decide how to act.” “I see,” answered the clerk, respectfully, for Stark’s word led him to think that his guest was a man of wealth. “Do you think it would pay me to go West?” he added “I do, if you know some one out there.” “But I don’t know anyone.” “You know me,” said Stark. “Do you think you could help me to a place, Mr. Stark?” “I think I could. A month from now write to me, Col. Philip Stark, at Denver, Colorado, and 1 will see if I can find an opening for you.” “You are very kind, Mr.—I mean Col. Stark,” said the clerk, gratefully. “By the way, I am sorry that I shall probably have to leave you to-mor¬ row.” “So soon?” “Yes. It’s this tiresome business. I shouldn’t wonder if I might lose ten thousand dollars through the folly of my agent. I shall probably have to go out to right things.” “Lord, I couldn’t afford to lose so great a sum of money,” said the young man, regarding the capitalist before him with astonishment. “No, I expect not. At your age I wasn’t worth ten thousand cents. But that’s neither here nor there. Give me a light, please, and I shall go up to bed. The young man had noticed with some curiosity the rather oddly shaped bundle which Stark carried under his arm but forebore to ask any questions about it. It seemed queer that Stark should have it with him walking. He remembered seeing him go out in the early evening, and he was quite confident that at the time he had no bundle with him. Plowever, he was influenced only by a spirit of idle curiosity. He had no idea that the bundle was of any im¬ portance or value. Phil Stark went up to his room, and setting the lamp on the bureau, first carefully locked the door, and then removed the paper from the tin box. He looked at it lovingly, and tried one by one the keys he had in his pocket, but none fitted. As he was experimenting, he thought with a smile of the night clerk from whom he had just parted. He took out his wallet, and counted seven dollars and thirty-eight cents. “That can hardly be said to compose wealth,” he thought, “but it is all I have over and above the contents of this box. That makes all the difference. Gib¬ bon is of the opinion that there are four or five thousand dollars in bonds, and he expects me to give him half. He must think I am crazy. I 11 give him fifteen hundred and keep the rest for myself. To-morrow I must clear out from Mil¬ ford, and give it a wide berth in the future. I suppose there will be a great hue and cry about the robbery of the safe.” Phil Stark, or Col. Stark had a large supply of keys, but none of them seemed to fit the tin box. The evening had been rather an exciting one, but the excitement was a pleasurable one, for he had succeeded in the plan which he and the book¬ keeper had so ingeniously formed and carried out, and here within reach was a rich reward for which they had struggled. In a short time Staik fell asleep and slept until morning. It seemed to him that he awoke rather suddenly from his slumber, and saw Gibbon leaving the room with the tin box under his arm. What a dreadful thing to have happened!