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

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24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE HAND OF A FATHER. (A Short Story.) Philip Vernon rose from the green plush pullman chair, stretched his six feet two in an undignified manner for a Harvard alumnus of three days’ standing, and walked to the platform of the Grenville station. “Philip, dear!” his mother cried in sheer joy. He embraced her warmly and then shook hands with his father in a more reserved way. As the three rounded the corner of the station, Philip stopped in amazement. “Why, father, you’ve bought a new span of horses and carriage.” “Yes, Philip,” his father answered. “We bought them for you.” “Now that you’re home for good, Philip dear, we want you to have everything and be just as happy as any boy in this town,” said his mother. Philip shrank within himself. How could he tell them of the offer to go to India with the United Coffee Company? But he must do it before the night was over or he would never be able to tell them. “We’ve invited a few of your old friends in to-night,” Mrs. Vernon told her son as they arose from the dinner table. “And Mary Randolph will be with them,” his father added with a sly smile, but before you meet them, I want to see you alone in the library.” After Mr. Vernon had settled back in his chair behind the beautiful antique mahogany desk in his library, the bomb-shell came—as Philip felt that it would—although he had no idea of what it would be. “Philip,” his father began in a very serious and determined voice. “I am pi cud of you. You have proved yourself to be the boy that I’ve always wanted you to be.” He paused. “And for that reason I am going to take you into the business. We will form a partnership.” Philip stared. For a full minute the room was deadly silent. Then he began. “But, Father—.” “Now, no ‘but father’ about it.” “I knew you’d take it this way. Don’t tell me that you don’t deserve it and all that sort of bosh. It’s settled. You are now a member of the firm and you will soon learn the business. Even X A, j. n . l noAv you do. Say no more about now but tell your friends to-night, and tomorrow we will go to Lawyer Parker’s office and have the papers drawn up.” With this he walked from the room. How long Philip sat there he did not know. Life itself seemed to slip from him. The things that he had dreamed of were never to be fulfilled he thought with bitterness, and he could see nothing but a drab existence in Grenville for the rest of his life. He rose and went to his room. He took some stationerv from his drawer. He sat down at his desk and wrote: Grenville, Tenn. Mr. J. H. Mason United Coffee Co. New York City Dear Sir: June 19, 1900. I am very sorry to inform you that I shall be unable to accept the you offered me. An unforeseen happening makes it position in India that utterly impossible for me to accept. Very truly yours, Philip Vernon.

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 She heard a slight rustling sound and she jumped from the chair. She searched the cellar and the attic without result. Returning to the parlor, she noticed a huge dead limb which brushed against the window. ‘‘Oh, that old thing is always bothering me; I think I’ll have it cut off,” she said to herself. During John’s absence, which had already lasted twelve days, Mrs. Wade did very little work. She sat by the window and thought of the work she had made John do. She wondered if he had really minded it. She chanced to look at the window. It was covered with black marks as if a man’s finger or animal’s paw had rested there. On the floor beneath it there was a track of black marks which led to the kitchen. In the kitchen several doughnuts were missing and the plate was covered with dirt. Under the table, looking dejected and forlorn, was her Chow dog, Ming Toy. She refrained from scolding him because she realized that he had been neglected. A month of sorrowful days was endured by Mrs. Wade. The errands which she had assigned to John had never been done; the rugs had not been beaten; the cellar had not been cleaned; a pile of rubbish remained ready to burn; a dozen windows needed a washing; and a certain desk was full of unpaid bills. The dead limb still brushed against the window from which the black marks had been removed. When Mrs. Wade was drowsing on her thirtieth sleepless night, a ter¬ rific crash broke the stillness of the June air. She sat up suddenly, and then she jumped from the bed. She looked out of the open window. The worth¬ less dead limb had finally fallen. But then she saw something which made her stand still with horror. Quickly she put a wrapper about her and hurried from the house. Two months later at the same window from which Mrs. Wade had looked on that eventful night in June, a figure sat in an armchair. When Mrs. Wade entered the room, the figure spoke. “My leg has improved so well under your care, Mary, that it is diffi¬ cult to realize it is broken.” “I’m glad I can help you, John. It’s time I did something besides scold you. Now you’re better, please tell me everything that has happened,” Said the wife of John K. Wade. John sighed and said, “It’s too long to tell at one time, but I’ll tell the main facts. When you put two mats in the hall for me to use, it was too much for any man to stand. So I opened the window, climbed out on the old limb, jumped to the street, hired a taxi, and then went to my brother’s cottage in the country where I evaded the police for the whole month. I came home once. You know about that from the missing doughnuts and black marks. I didn’t mean to stay home when I came in the other night, but that limb fell when I stepped on it.” John held a pipe in his hand during his narration. A limb rustled against the window. Startled. John made a quick movement, and the ashes of his pipe fell to the floor. He looked at his wife as if expecting a scold¬ ing. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it quickly and put her hand in his. Dorothy Phillips, ’31.

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 26 Philip Vernon, Jr. rose from the g’reen plush pullman chair and stretched his six feet two in a manner ungentlemanly for a three-day alumnus of Harvard. He walked out on to the Grenville platform and engaged the only taxi that was on hand. When he arrived home, he found that only his mother and grandfather were there to greet him. His father would be back in time for dinner. Philip visualized the arguing that he would have to do in order to accept that position, but he would do it if it were his last act on earth. How could anyone be content to bury himself in a town like this for the rest of his life! Mr. Vernon came in and greeted his son warmly. “Junior,” his mother began at the dinner table, “it’s so nice to know that you are home for good. I’ve missed you so much. But now I’m very glad that you will be with us all the time,” she finished with a contented smile. Yes, it certainly is nice to have you home,” his grandfather put in, “and now that I’m getting old, you’ll be taking my place in the business.” “Oh, it is coming,” Philip thought. I’ll be hanged before I’ll spend the rest of my life here.” His flow of thoughts v ere cut short by his father’s voice. “I’d like to see you in the library. Junior.” Well, Junior, ’ he began after he had settled back in his chair in the libraiy. It ouve done good work in college but not once have you men¬ tioned what you intended to do. Haven’t you anything in mind?’’ Philip’s mind became a whirlwind. Here was the time to tell him! Don’t give him a chance to object! But he failed—all that he could say was. Well, Dad, I have a position in mind with the United Cigar Company, but I’d have to go to Havana.” He waited for the objections, but instead his father smiled. “Well, I’m no mind reader. Junior, but I thought that a smart boy like you must have something in mind. I think that will be great. Just leave your mother and grandfather to me.” Philip jumped from his chair and grasped his father’s hands. “Oh Dad, I never thought you’d understand. You living here all your life and never going anywhere. I thought it was understood that I was going into the business.” Mr. Vernon made no reply but merely gave his son a smile that puzzled him. Louise Cenedella, ’31. THE SCOOP. (A Short Story.) In a room on the third story of an apartment house in foggy London, Cyrus Braggdon, highly esteemed radio lecturer on capital punishment, lay on the floor with a dagger through his heart. He left the studio at 9.45 that fatal Monday evening. Fifteen minutes later he was dead. I managed to slip in to his rooms by means of my card from the Daily Tribune. Detective Sergeant Rice looked at me coldly. “Well?” he grunted. “Reporter, sir,” I answered, offering my card.