Polytechnic High School - Caerulea Yearbook (Long Beach, CA)

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I on the tracks, had collided with a moving train of freight, with the effect that the engine was thrown off the track and badly smashed, while the engineer was bruised severely though not very seriously. Galey went about here and there, craning his neck over the heads of the crowd, jotting down notes now and then on a pad, as he saw something of interest. He in- quired of bystanders about the injured engineer, and screwed his face into a knot, as holding his pad close to his eyes, he took down the items. Finally, he looked as if he felt satisfied. He put his pad into his pocket, and took long strides in the direction of the Clarion office. I followed him up. When I arrived at the office, Galey was seated at a desk in one corner of the room, writing in a painstaking manner. A few minutes later, he went into the editor's room. The editor was seated at his desk. How do you do, said Galey. I have a story for to- day's paper. It is about a wreck at the R. and M. freight yards. Here is the copy. Well, said the editor, you're right on the job, aren't you? l was just going to send a reporter down for that story. l didn't know about it until a moment ago. Let's see the copy. Yes, that's good. Say, Galey, you'll be a full fledged reporter before you know it. Galey left the room smiling. He loafed about the main office waiting for the proof of his story to be sent back. Not long after this Douglas hurried into the office, and went to the editor's room. Say, he said in a loud tone, l've got a story here just in time for the first edition. lt's about a wreck at the R. and M. freight yards. l was the only reporter on the spot, and the other papers can't get it now in time for a good write-up. l'll get busy right away and fix the copy. During this harangue, the editor had looked curiously at Douglas, smiling slightly. When the latter had finished, the editor paused a moment then said, You'd better get busy on something else. Galey Thorpe got that wreck story half an hour ago. Where were you this afternoon? Asleep? Before the surprised Douglas could answer, a boy came in with some proof sheets. The editor handed one to Douglas CASEY JONES INJURED Harvey Cole, an engineer on the R. and M. railroad, received painful but not serious injuries this afternoon when his engine jumped a defective switch and collided with a swiftly moving train of freight cars. Mr. Cole, on account of his ex- perience as an engineer, is called the 'Casey Jones of the R. and lVl.,' by his associates. who read, Twenty-Two

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1 wish you would handle a case for me. A fellow by the name of Casey Jones has just died under very peculiar circum- stances, and we want a write-up for today's paper. If you go to the police station and inquire they can probably tell you something about it. If they can't, just inquire about town until you get your information. l have never tried to write this kind of a case, said Galey, but I'll do the best l can to help you. ' Thanks, replied Douglas, dryly, and turned away. Of course it was a joke, and we all knew it. I was about to tell Galey not to take Douglas' words seriously, but he had hurried away to the police station on his wild goose chase, before I could stop him. An officer who was at the station at the time told me what occurred. Mr. Keegan was at the desk, a man of much dignity and hot temper. Galey ap- proached him awkwardly. l represent the Clarion, he said, and l have come to find out about a man called Casey jones who has died under peculiar circumstances. What was that name, again? snapped Mr. Keegan. Casey jones, replied Galey. See here, young fellow, said Mr. Keegan, angrily, get- ting red in the face, don't try to play any of your smart re- porters' jokes on me. l've been made sport of before by such as you, and l'm halfia mind to fine you for contempt of court. This is no place for fooling. Poor Galey was so dumbfounded by this outburst that he could only gaze open-mouthed at the irate sergeant. At this point the phone rang. Mr. Keegan answered and after a moment his face softened. When he had finished talking, he addressed Galey. Say, cub, he said, l think I know what you're after. The station master at the freight yards of the R. and M. railroad just phoned that an old engineer, who the boys call Casey Jones, has been hurt in a wreck. l'm going to send a couple of officers down in an auto to handle the crowd. You can go along with them, if you want to, and get your story. Mr. Keegan seemed relieved to find that his dignity had not been lowered by his being made the victim of a joke, and he offered the special consideration of allowing Galey to ride down to the freight yards with the officers. l arrived at the yards myself, just a moment after Galey did. When l saw that he was going to try to report the affair, l decided to let him do his best, and not write it up myself. l watched him as he made his way through the crowd, always staying near one of the officers, and as he nosed about to find out what he could about the wreck. An engine, switching ' Twenty-One

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Douglas put the proof sheet on the editor's desk and turned to leave the room. At the door he met Galey. Hello, Douglas, said Galey, have you got back from the country so soon? By the way, I might tell you I got that Casey Jones story all right, and I want to thank you for giving me the tip. The joke was on Douglas and we rubbed it in. He never bothered Galey after that. IVER NEWMAN, ' I 6 UUE' The Indian Runner A purple sheet of cloudless sky, That bends with downward slant to meet Gray, shifting sands, that silent lie Becalmed beneath the awful heat. No green blade springs in that sad land, No bird-wing beats the heavy airg The marvel of a blighting hand, Vast, silent desert everywhere. Twilight, and then a glow that dies With sudden shadows from on high, Save one long dull red line that lies Far down against the western sky. Across the deep, half-sullen glare, A dark form passes, swift and free, As though a spirit walked the air Alone, a molten, fiery sea. A late moon glows, a sullen light Low set among the saffron skies, And swift beneath it, in his might, The swarth Apache runner flies. With rumors of impending strife Along the frontiers of the land, He speeds, with ever-quickening life, O'er dead, gray centuries of sand. MEADE TALBOTT, 'l8. Twenty Il