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

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 29 THE LETTER. The low murmuring of the detectives in the large room suddenly stopped. Garrity, the huge, robust and hard-faced Chief of Detectives had ordered the line-up of criminals for the day to commence. One by one they came before the spotlight—bootleggers, gangster’s molls, pickpockets and petty thieves—answered the questions that were fired at them by the bristling Garrity, and then were taken to the Tombs. Most of them were confident that they would be squeezed out of the jail, because of the dickerings be¬ tween the reigning gangsters and the high officials that ruled the city. As Chief Garrity, after retiring to his office, was seated, with his feet on his desk, reading the morning paper about the raids that had been con¬ ducted the night before, a detective came into the office to give his report. He had been sent out the previous evening to look for “Shine” Regals, a notorious racketeer, who was wanted for murder. The Chief could tell by the look on the detective’s face that his mission had been a failure. “Well,” said the Chief, “did you find your man?” “Naw,” answered the detective. “I searched high and low for him, visited all the dives that a guy like that would go to, and I didn’t get one glimpse of him. But say, boss, I rounded up ‘Cokey’ Grogan in the Grand Central Depot where I saw him picking some hick’s pocket. Shall I bring him in?” “Yes, bring him in,” roared the Chief. Because of the failure to get ‘Shine’ Regals, he was ready to unleash all his pent-up fury on ‘Cokey’ Gro¬ gan. The door to the office opened and a small, weasel-faced person furtively entered the office in a manner clearly showing that he had been there before. “Up to your little tricks again, ‘Cokey’. And you were released only three days ago from the Big House after serving three years. Well, you better talk fast and give us yoUr story, or you’re going back for a nice long vacation.” “Oh, I didn’t do nuthin’ and you ain’t got anythin’ on me, either,” piped the little gangster. “I haven’t, eh? Well, I’ll see about that. Empty out everything you have in your pockets and make it pretty fast, too.” The weasel-faced crook hastily extracted from his pockets a few bills, some change, three cigarettes, and a sealed letter. He placed thes6 on the Chief’s desk and muttered something to himself. The Chief quickly opened the letter, and angrily turned to ‘Cokey’. “Where did you get this letter?” he asked. “Oh, some guy in the prison gave it to me to mail for him.” “He’s lying,” said the detective. “I saw him hock it from that kid back in the depot.” “Well, make it snappy,” roared the Chief. “Tell me what you were going to do with this train ticket and this letter of introduction to one of the biggest and most powerful racketeers in San Francisco.” The little crook looked stealthily about him for some avenue of escape, but not finding any, he turned to the irate Chief. “Well, about three days ago, I got out of stir. I got what little stuff I had and hopped a train to the big city. I spent the first night here in a little hotel on the East Side, an’ while I was there, I heard the voice of ‘Shine’ Regals talkin’ over the phone in the next room. He said that some frame-up was okay. Well, he double-crossed me three years ago, and I thought I might figure some way to fix him. I trailed him to a little Greek

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28 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. corner. The boatman whistled softly. Several hours went by thus. Every¬ thing was so peaceful, so calm, so beautiful, so romantic. Emery put down his fishing pole. “I don’t seem to be having much luck,” said he to Grace. “Anyway I’d rather talk to you.” Now Grace was not altogether pleased to have her dreams thus inter¬ rupted. She had been on the point of deciding whether white satin or white lace would be nicer for a wedding gown. But she smiled and murmured, “What shall we talk about?” Emery began to talk of his life, his ambitions, his hopes when suddenly an odd look Came on his face. “I-er excuse me, I think I see a school of fish,” and dashing to the other side of the boat, he leaned far over the side. Grace was going to follow him to see what interested him so, when she remembered Jackie who was unusually quiet. Jackie was also leaning over the rail in that peculiar manner. The boatman winked to no one in particular. Running to Jackie, Grace pulled him back to keep him from falling. She was surprised to see that he was very pale and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Suddenly she understood. Jackie was very seasick! That brute Emery who had insisted on dragging him along! Why he ought to be— suddenly another thought struck her. Had seasickness caused Emery to leave her so suddenly? Tears came to her eyes in her sympathy for her little brother’s suffering. Jackie sobbed, “I want to go home! I want my mother! I wanna go home!” Grace glanced at Emery. He was still very much interested in the school of fish. “Serves him right, the brute!” she thought. “So the Titheringtons were good sailors, were they? This is a fine specimen of manhood,” and her thoughts went back to Dickie Leonard who carried her books and who although eighteen (a year older than Grace) was a head and a half taller than Emery, and much handsomer. ' It was a very tired and disappointed Grace who entered the house a few hours later, leading a sick looking, crying little boy by the hand and followed by a pale young man, whose knees did not seem quite steady. “May I stay in my room and work on my new book. Miss Franklin?” asked Emery in a formal manner. “Yes, of course,” answered Grace, as kindly as she could manage. Put¬ ting Jackie into the charge of her sympathetic mother, she ran upstairs, and threw herself on her bed. “My Heart is broken,” she sobbed. “I shall n-never love anyone a-again. Oh!” and she shook with sobs. Then she dried her eyes and went to the window. She saw Dickie Leonard crossing the street and coming toward her house. She tapped on the window and he looked up. A wide grin spread over his tanned young face, and he called in his deep low voice, “Wanna go for a walk?” “I’ll be ready in five minutes, Dickie, dear,” she answered, and she im¬ mediately forgot her troubles. Incidentally, Emery remembered some important business, and left early the next morning. Martha Rapaport, ’32.

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30 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. restaurant, where he hired a booth. I got one next to his. Soon a young feller entered ‘Shine’s’ booth, and I heard ‘Shine’ say a lotta good things. Then ‘Shine’ gave him that letter and told him to hop the midnight train to the Coast. So I followed the youngster to the depot, and seeing him put the letter in his jacket pocket, I took it away from him.” ‘‘That’s a pretty story,” roared the Chief, ‘‘but what good would that letter be to you?” “Oh, I don’t know. I just thought if I took it, I might use it against ‘Shine’ sometime.” “Listen here, ‘Cokey’. You’re holding something from me, and I’m warning you, that if you don’t tell me this instant. I’m going to have you sent up to the Big House for fifteen years.” A look of fear came into the crook’s shifty eyes. Then it seemed with a hint of a tear in his eye he turned and faced the Chief. “I learned in the room at the hotel that the young feller was to be framed. As soon as he stepped offa the train at San Francisco, he was to be nabbed by the coppers, and with that letter on him, he would have to do a pretty long stretch.” “Well, what of it?” barked the Chief. “What was the young fellow to you?” “My young brother,” said ‘Cokey’ slowly. William Bellantonio, ’32. THE END OF THE QUEST. “Well, I have failed in my mission. For six months I have searched for my father in vain.” Gregory Spencer, a tall and sun burned young man, mused thus as he sat before a blazing campfire on the banks of the mighty Amazon. The Brazilian jungle, dark and brooding, hemmed in his encampment. It was now five years since his father had journeyed up this river in search of wild rubber. Always he had been a genial and an understanding friend. In his mind’s eye Gregory could picture him now seated across the fire, his kindly face lit with enthusiasm and the livid three-inch scar on his right cheek standing out weirdly in the flickering firelight. He would be telling some tale of adventure as in the old days when they had gone on hunting trips together. Gregory had often wondered how his father had obtained that queer scar—probably it was a memento of his German student days, but now he would never be able to confirm that supposition. He thought with regret that he would never again gaze upon that beloved face. An unknown fate had been his father’s. With native guides Gregory had diligently searched the Amazon and its larger navigable tributaries, but no clue had he found. All men must die and his father’s end would not be so terrible if he had left behind some souvenir, some memorial that he might cherish, thought Spencer. Within a month he would be well rid of this beastly country. Tomorrow he would start back for Para and thence to civilization. As Spencer rode the current downstream next day, a sliver of wood whizzed over his head and fell with a splash into the river. Those beggarly savages! They were trying to add more heads to their ghastly collection. In some inexplicable way, by a secret process known only to themselves, the barbarians could mummify and shrink a human head without impairing its