Providence Technical High School - Review Yearbook (Providence, RI)

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1930 THE TECH REVIEW 81 A Fare to Petersburg By Theodore Baldwin, '31 Mr. X looked up from his evening paper. “So you want a story for your I ech Re- view.” he remarked. “ A true experience. Well, now, let me see. Did you ever own a horse? No? Then you’ve missed some- thing. I well remember the first horse I owned. How proudly I hooked him into the buggy and went to the station. First time I ever had him out. He was a beauti- ful animal. Yes, you’ve missed something, but to get back to my story. I sat there in the buggy watching the labors of the baggage master and the station agent passing off empty milk cans. This business having been disposed of, the con- ductor signaled to the waiting engineer, and the train, complaining vigorously at every stroke of her pistons, went off up the track. Now I noticed a man in a slouch hat and a shabby suit approaching the station agent. They talked together for a moment, then turned and came in my direction. As the man in the slouch hat approached I could see that he had a long half moon shaped scar from his forehead down the side of his face to his neck, indeed it seemed to me as though someone must have nearly split him in two with an ax. so puck- ered up and distorted was his face. He had both hands in his pockets and his shoulders were hunched up as though he were suffering from cold. It was, however, a very hot muggy day in late summer, over- clouded, and threatening thundershowers. I he agent addressed me. ‘This gentle- man here would like to hire someone to take him to Petersberg,’ he said. ‘You seem to be ready, why don’t you take him over?’ I he chance to make some money looked good to me so I agreed. The stranger spoke up. ‘Alright, kid, you just wait here. I have a few errands to do then I will be ready. Well, I waited for that fellow for half an hour. Finally I saw him come out of the village blacksmith shop. He had in one hand a shovel and a long iron rod and in the other a large piece of oilcloth all rolled up in a package. These things he carelessly tossed into the back of my buggy while he himself climbed into the seat be- side me. Without giving him much attention I drove out onto the street and started out on the fairly long ride I had before me. It had already begun to mist and I hoped to get back before dark. We had not been going more than a few minutes when he in- structed me to take the next left, saying that he wished to go over the back road. Great was my surprise at this request. I he back road had been years in the past the main road to Petersberg, but a more modern road had been constructed and the old road through the hill country had fallen into a mere cowpath with two or three farmhouses near the town. Beyond the farmhouses I hardly considered the road navigable with a horse and buggy, but my Granger was the boss and I wished to en- courage a liberal wage upon arrival at Petersberg so I complied. Mist and gloom prevailed. The road grew increasingly difficult. After I passed the last of the farmhouses I drove into the deepest forest. Here the trees met above my head as though in conspiracy to keep from me what little light there was. Wet bush and tall grass obstructed my progress but I went on, fording brooks and being guided by stone walls which ran either side of the road. We emerged at the top of a hill then plunged down the steep side of a ravine. Hardly had I reached the bottom when I received a curt summons to stop. Terror struck me but I could do nothing but

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80 TIIK TKCII REVIEW 1930 “Masquerade” By Ruth C. Hilton, ’3 “Where ya going, sis?” asked Al, busy putting on a bright red tie. He excused the brilliance of the tie by saying that red was his school’s color. “Well, you ought to know by this time that I’m going to the masquerade at Elinor’s, if you’ll stop talking long enough so I can get ready,” replied Joan. She was valiantly struggling to get into the multiple skirts of a fluffy, old fashioned dress of the 1860’s. “Aw, who would want to go to one of those crazy things, anyhow? ” came the question. “I for one, and if you had any polite- ness about you, you’d go too, since you had an invitation.” shot back Joan. Still strug- gling. “And I do wish you would wear a respectable and sober tie!” With that she tripped downstairs like the frilly, shy, little maiden she was representing. After she had gone, Al lolled around the house, not knowing what to do with himself. Since idlers usually turn to mis- chief for want of something to do, Al had, what he termed, a brilliant idea. He would dress up as Romeo or in some equally ab- surd costume, go to the masquerade and monopolize his sister’s dances. Wouldn’t she be wild when she found out it was her brother! Quickly he ran upstairs and found an An undertaker joined a golf club and became infatuated with the game and the club. He liked it so well that he offered free burial to the first member to die. I hat night ten Scotchmen shot them- selves. old Revolutionary War costume. It was all moth eaten, and smelled of moth balls. He got into it hastily but found it didn’t fit him very well. However, he decided that it looked alright. (Just like a man). He couldn’t find an old tie to wear, so he put on a new one which was a vivid orange with green and purple stripes. It was pretty according to his sense of har- mony! But he forgot that Joan had seen the tic when he got it! He ran out to the garage, jumped into his roadster and was off to Elinor’s house. It was a large mansion surrounded by a beautiful rose garden and was well suited for masquerades. Al entered as inconspicuously as possible and immediately cut in on his sister. He did not notice the glances she gave his tie while they were dancing. He danced with her as often as possible, cutting in when he could and not going far from her be- tween dances. This was noticed and soon people were whispering that Joan had a new boy friend. “All unmask! unmask!’’ This cry came around the hall about one thirty. Al waited until Joan had her’s off be- fore he reached up to unmask. Just as his fingers reached the mask Joan nonchal- antly remarked,” I do wish you would wear a respectable tie for once, Al!” Esther Almy: “Say, what’s the symbol for water?” Helen K: ”H, I, J, K. L, M, N. O.” Esther: “How d’ya get that way?” Helen: “Well, it’s H to O, isn’t it?”

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82 T II E T E C II R E V I E W 1030 comply. The scar faced man climbed down from my buggy, took his long iron rod, his shovel and his oilcloth, and commanding me to wait, dove into the underbush. I could hear him fighting his way through the growth. The snapping of dead sticks and the rustle of bushes grew less distinct as he pressed further into the woods. My first thought was to whip my horse and make a dash for it while I was still alive for I verily believed the man a demented murderer who was even now digging my grave. A look at the steep overgrown road ahead of me discouraged this idea as I realized that I could not hope to maintain through this mess, and especially with a fast horse who was not used to my guidance. It was plain to me that I must remain where I was, for to leave without my horse would be pure folly. Thunder rumbled in the distance and water dripped with lone- some patter from the trees. Why had not the stranger taken the train directly for Petersberg instead of going this round about way? What was he doing with an iron rod and a shovel? It must have been twenty minutes before I heard a rustling again in the bushes. 1 he stranger appeared, this time minus his shov- el and iron rod, but in his hand he held a large bundle which I could see was oilcloth gathered up at the corners. The contents rattled as he stepped and reminded me of a lot of boards or metal bars which clanked together when moved. He stood there by the buggy glaring up at me, and I noticed that he was out of breath, as though from some labor. He swung his bundle into the rear of the buggy where it landed with a crunching sound. I trembled with fear. It sounded to me exactly like the crunching of bones. What gruesome remains had he unearthed? He climbed into the buggy and once more seated himself beside me. ‘Now we will drive back to town in time to catch the night train. You see, I play with these things.’ I turned to gaze into the business end of a huge pistol. ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘you will be well paid.’ My return trip was not a pleasing one. We struggled through bushes and young trees eight feet high and I feared I would break my buggy. It was nearly dark, how- ever, and beginning to rain harder. I felt that I would be willing to break half a doz- en buggies to get back to town again. So rough was the traveling that it was with difficulty that we could keep our seats. The stranger’s mysterious oilcloth bundle slid from one side of the rear of the buggy to the other. The stranger himself only made the best of things and hung on as well he might, muttering to himself and twirling his revolver around his extended index fing- er. What, I asked myself, had he done with the iron rod and shovel? It was with great relief that I saw him and his bag of bones aboard the train. I pocketed the five dollars payment and no sooner had the train started than I sprinted to the blacksmith shop to tell my story to the blacksmith. ‘Why yes,’ he said. ‘1 hat fellow with a scar on his face came in here and asked me to make him a long iron rod, pointed at one end and with a handle at the other. He paid me and said he would wait so I set to work. Then, wondering, I asked him why he wanted the rod, saying that if he wanted it to prod stumps he should have a flat point. He turned on me furiously and said, ‘When I paid you to make that rod did I say I would tell you why I wanted it?’ ‘Why no,’ I answered, somewhat taken back, and I went to work on the thing.’ 1 he blacksmith was very much interested in my story. He readily agreed to ride back to the ravine with me on the following morning, that being Sunday. I he return trip did not seem nearly as long nor as difficult. Possibly this was be- cause the blacksmith kept me cheered up